


The Princess of Sparta

by NickelModelTales



Series: Erotic Hypnosis In the Ancient World [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Ancient Greece, F/M, Female Friendship, Hypnotism, Master/Servant, Orgy, Porn With Plot, Princes & Princesses, Prophecy, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Servants, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut, Slavery, Sparta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: An erotic hypnosis adventure, set in Ancient Greece.  When a mysterious stranger hypnotizes the beautiful Princess of Sparta, he compels her to go on a long quest.  Soon, the princess is enslaved to a lustful master, and all of Sparta may be doomed.
Series: Erotic Hypnosis In the Ancient World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956988
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. One Day, She Will Show the Way to Secure Sparta’s Future

**_Sparta, 366 BC_ **

The stranger arrived via the Northern Road. And from the moment the native Spartans clapped eyes upon him, they knew this man could not possibly be a local. The odd fellow was perhaps in his early forties, yet his arms and legs were thin and scrawny, his belly was large and soft. Clearly, he had never spent a day of his life in military service. He stood out among the battle-scared Spartans like a fat donkey amid a pack of wolves.

And yet, the visitor walked with an air of confidence and an odd smile on his lips. His head was bald, and his beard was cut in the pointed style that was the fashion up north, in snooty Athens. Beneath his gray traveler’s cloak, one could see a well-tailored tunic and sandals, the expensive kinds that only merchants and aristocrats could afford. The man carried a leather pack over one shoulder, and a jingling coin purse on his belt.

Whistling an unfamiliar tune, the strange fellow paused in a Lunnatae district tavern, making a show of buying a round of wine for the surprised regulars. After a few songs and some bawdy jokes, the stranger beaconed to the tavernkeeper.

“Say,” the stranger said, plunking another silver drachma coin on the table, “I, ah, need someone to show me about your fine city. There’s no harm if I borrow your servant boy, eh?”

No, there was no harm at all. The tavern-boy named Doric, a young slave who was skinnier than a twig, was called up from the cellar. The stranger quickly pressed another drachma into the lad’s hand.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Doric said with wide eyes. “Er, how should I address you?”

“Why, I’m Kynortas, Kynortas the poet of Sicyon,” the stranger said grandly. “You have heard of me, right?”

“No sir,” admitted Doric.

Kynortas’ smile faded.

“What in Sparta would you like to see?” Doric asked quickly. “The Acropolis? The palaces of the kings? Or the Temple of Athena?”

The poet shook his head. “I want to see where your soldiers train. Take me there, boy!”

*** *** ***

Wasting no time, Doric led his new employer into Sparta. They threaded their way through the crowds at the Hall of the Ephors, then took the Cynosura Road. Soon, the two found themselves outside the Pitane District, with the Taygetos Mountains looming in the West. Here, there was an open field, lined with well-tended lemon trees.

Within the field, thirty young men were stretching their muscles under the hot sun. The bronzed-skinned youths wore plain white tunics and leather belts; their feet were bare. Meanwhile, a small crowd of local Spartans were forming at the edge of the field, consisting of young women and elder men. The men were battle-scarred and watched the young soldiers-in-training with hard, skeptical eyes.

“This is the training of the _Eurysthenes Syssitia_ ,” Doric explained to Kynortas.

The poet made a face. “Eh?”

Doric sighed. “In Sparta, sir, a _syssitia_ is a training-house. All young citizen boys are required to train in one, under a _Plutarch_ master.” He added woefully, “Lucky bastards.”

Kynortas settled under a tree, carefully laying his walking-stick in the dirt beside him. As he studied the warrior-students, he opened his bundle and removed a parchment bag of olives. “Who’s **_that_** fellow?” he demanded, nodding at a particularly tall boy on the field.

The tall lad was strikingly handsome, with classic Greek features, including thick, curly black hair, a strong chin, and glinting brown eyes. He was lean, but rippling with muscles. More than one young woman among the spectators gaped at him.

“Oh,” Doric said, longingly stealing a glance at Kynortas’ olives, “that’s Prince Agis. Future captain of this _syssitia_ , no doubt.”

“Huh,” grunted Kynortas, then popped two olives into his mouth. He did not offer any of the snack to Doric. “Prince, eh? Tell me, boy, is it true that Sparta has **_two_** kings?”

“We do have two kings,” nodded the serf. “The Agiads are the line of senior kings, the Eurypontids are the lesser. Prince Agis is of the lesser line.”

“Dual kings? Ridiculous,” scoffed Kynortas. He spat the olive pits into the tall grass. “Sparta may be renowned for its glory in the battlefield, but your city has infantile customs, boy. Why, you are the only military power without city walls!”

Doric stiffened. “You’re **_looking_** at the walls of Sparta,” he said, indicating the young soldiers.

As the boy spoke, the young men-in-training quickly lined up and snapped to attention. A grizzled, older soldier was striding onto the field, a great, broad-shouldered man. Dressed as a Spartan warrior, he was bare-chested, but wore shorts of linen along with military sandals and a great, flowing red cloak. A bronze helmet with a red plume covered his head. Kynortas guessed the officer was in his mid-fifties, yet his body looked stronger and more powerful than any warrior back in Sicyon.

“ ** _That’s_** Captain Orestes,” Doric murmured, awe in his voice. “The Hero of Leuctra.”

The captain stopped before his recruits, removing his helmet in one swift movement. The man had short gray hair matched with a neat beard. A long scar ran down the left side of the man’s face, and he wore a strap of cloth over the socket where he had lost his eye. His skin was tanned like the finest leather.

A small servant boy appeared at Orestes’ side, and the captain thrust his helmet into the lad’s arms. Then the worn commander stood before his trainees, fists on his hips, a deep scowl on his face. Not one of the young boys dared move while in his glare.

“Do you know what they are saying in Athens?” the old captain thundered. “And in Thebes? And all over Greece?”

No-one dared respond.

“The kings and philosophers snicker that Sparta is a fading power!” Orestes bellowed. “That we Spartans squabble amongst ourselves as our empire crumbles! What say you to that, eh?”

“ ** _Sparta forever!_** ” the boys hollered back in lusty unison. “ ** _Sparta forever!_** ”

“Zeus himself heard you,” grinned Captain Orestes. “Good.” He paused. “Where is Cynisca?”

The men looked uncomfortable.

“I asked you a question!” bellowed the commander. He stabbed a finger at Prince Agis. “Where?”

“Not present, **_sir_** ,” the tall, young man replied.

Captain Orestes frowned, making him even more formidable than before. “Hnnngh,” he scowled. “Battle waits for no-one. We begin!”

He clapped his hands, once. The sound was like a thunderclap.

Immediately the young trainees broke formation. They hurriedly stripped off their clothes, tossing their tunics to Captain Orestes’ servant boy. Once naked, they jogged in position or practiced their fighting stances. Each lad was lean and muscle-packed. They were itching for mock combat.

At the same time, Kynortas and Doric saw another servant-boy approach, this one leading a mule and cart onto the field. The cart was piled high with wooden training weapons. At a signal from Captain Orestes, the young men quickly formed a line at the cart, each taking a large shield and then a sword or javelin. In less than a minute, the entire battalion was armed and back in formation.

“Too slow!” barked the captain. “If the Myceneans or Persians were here, you’d all be dead by now.” He crossed his meaty arms. “Now… How do we begin training?”

“ ** _Defeat in the ring only teaches me!_** ” cried out the boys. “ ** _Defeat in battle is dishonor!_** ” They beat their shields, exactly once.

“Damned right,” Captain Orestes growled. “Your honor is your soul. Begin.”

Without a word, Sparta’s future soldiers spread out, forming a wide circle in the grass. Then, three lads stepped forward, into the circle, their shields and weapons raised. Kynortas, Doric, and all the onlookers craned their necks to watch.

The naked boys circled one another, their eyes narrowed slits, their every last muscle tensed. Their swords and spears were held at the ready.

In the far distance, an eagle cried.

“Begin combat!” bellowed Captain Orestes.

All three boys attacked. The weapons swung, and there was the loud crack of wood upon wood. Two of the lads tumbled to the grass, grimacing in pain.

“Ah,” grinned Kynortas, enjoying himself. He popped more olives into his mouth.

“Fallen clear the field!” shouted Captain Orestes, his one eye bulging. “Learn from your pain! We grow strength from overcoming our obstacles!” He nodded, once. “Champion, stand ready!”

The two downed boys snatched their weapons and limped back into the circle. Meanwhile, two more lads sprang forward. One was Prince Agis.

“ ** _Fight!_** ” demanded the red-faced Captain Orestes.

Prince Agis whipped his spear about in a wide arc, bringing the wooden shaft against the sword-arm of his nearer opponent; the boy cried out and crumpled to the ground. The other attacker moved in, lunging with his sword. Agis deftly spun on one foot, crashing his shield squarely against his assailant’s back. This lad immediately toppled into the tall grass. Agis danced away, grinning proudly.

There was light applause from the onlookers. “The prince is good,” Kynortas remarked with admiration.

“Oh, he’s not the best in the squad,” replied Doric.

At that moment, two small figures rushed onto the field, heading from the city. Kynortas squinted in the bright sunlight and realized both of the slender, white-clad figures were young women, beautiful women with long, bouncing brown hair and olive-colored skin. Their white linen dresses fluttered like flags. They zipped through the spectators, making a beeline for Captain Orestes.

Immediately, combat within the circle froze. All eyes fell upon the two women.

Nimbler than the swiftest deer, the first woman flew up to the trainee’s commander, dropping into one knee upon reaching the imposing man. She bowed her head in respect.

“Captain Orestes,” she gasped, winded. “Please, please forgive my tardiness. The palace-“

“ ** _Silence!_** ” bellowed the captain, fuming.

The young woman bowed her head even lower. Her handmaiden hurriedly knelt beside her, gasping for breath.

Orestes ignored the handmaiden. The weathered old commander jabbed a thick finger at the first young woman. “Spartan discipline means nothing to you, eh? **_Eh???_** ” he snarled. “If it was not the respect I have for your father and your family, you would be **_whipped_** for this infraction! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, captain.”

The older man glared his one eye down upon the girl. “Complete the combat with your brothers-in-arms. Then, five racing laps around the field as punishment. Do not disappoint me again.”

The young woman bowed her head again. “Yes, captain.”

“Hmmgh,” Orestes grumbled. “Now, to exercises.”

Both young women rose to their feet and turned to face the circle of waiting men. Now, for the first time, Kynortas the poet could see how beautiful both the ladies were. An olive froze halfway to his lips as he gazed in disbelief and wonder.

The taller young woman was easily the most breathtaking vision of loveliness that Kynortas had ever seen. Oh, time seemed to stop the moment he beheld her exquisite face. The woman’s hazel eyes were large and shining, perfectly set above her small, slender nose and rose-colored lips. Her mouth was slightly open, revealing a glimpse at her white, pearl-like teeth. And her cheekbones were high and delicate, as if the gods themselves had decided her complexion was to have no equal. Her skin was completely smooth, and perhaps the gods had crafted that, too.

The young woman had a slender neck, which flowed down to her trim and well-muscled body. She wore the robes, sandals, and jewelry of a noblewoman, yet Kynortas’ appreciating eye could tell her figure was lean and tempered and strong, like the warrior boys she now faced. The young woman’s long, thick hair curled and tumbled down her shoulders and back, almost draped there like a second cape.

The handmaiden was quite beautiful as well. While her visage was eclipsed by that of her mistress, her soft, brown eyes caught the light in a spellbinding way. The younger lady’s face was slightly rounder, as she still had some of her baby fat, but one could see she was just one harvest away from achieving full womanhood. Her lips, chin, and natural smile made her radiant to behold. Her body had just blossomed, and she filled her simple tunic with an alluring stature. Kynortas guessed the lass was no more than fifteen years old, a fully-grown woman by Greek standards.

But Kynortas found his appreciative eyes drawing back to the astounding noblewoman. As an educated man, he had read the epics and missives describing all the famous beauties of Greek history and legend: Helen of Troy, Princess Andromeda, Atlanta, Adriane, even the goddess Aphrodite herself. Truly, Kynortas now thought, the young woman before him cast all those famous beautifies to shame.

“Don’t keep me waiting!” warned Captain Orestes. “Begin combat!”

A grim look settled over the beautiful noblewoman. Working quickly, she unlaced and removed her sandals, then untied the decorative ribbons about her dress. Soon she was stepping into the sun completely naked. The noblewoman kept only one long ribbon, which she used to quickly tie her hair up in a wild, unkept bun.

“By **_Zeus’ cock!_** ” Kynortas gasped, marveling at the noblewoman’s exposed body. She was every bit as lovely in form as she was in complexion. Her legs were long and powerful, and they gracefully connected to her round hips. The woman’s buttocks were muscular, but her back and stomach were flat and carried no fat whatsoever. Her torso was angular, betraying the muscles in her chest and shoulders. Her arms were strong. And her breasts, firm and round, bounced lightly on her chest as she moved.

“Here, Sotira,” the noblewoman snapped, thrusting her clothes at her handmaiden.

Wasting no time, the nude woman then sprang to the weapons cart, snatching a shield and sword. She hurried into the center of the circle.

“She’s gonna **_fight?_** ” Kynortas exclaimed, staring openly at the naked woman. “Who is that chick?”

“That is the daughter of King Cleomenes,” replied Doric, not without a trace of pride. “The Princess Cynisca, descended from Eurysthenes himself! She’s the pride of Sparta.”

“A woman in combat?” the old poet almost gagged. “Are you foolish Spartans **_trying_** to insult the gods?” He eyed the princess’s breasts. “All these boys are gonna have erect stiffies! Is that how she-“

“Begin!” roared Captain Orestes.

Three soldier trainees charged Princess Cynisca, their weapons raised high. Immediately, the young woman dropped into a fighting crouch, screamed a bloodcurdling battle cry, and then lashed out with her sword. Two of the boys reeled backwards, nursing bruised shins.

The third soldier swung his wooden blade, but Cynisca easily thrust her shield upward to parry the blow. With another cry, she bought her wooden blade against her opponent’s belly, giving him a good smack across the gut. The lad yelped, and collapsed into the grass.

“Let the pain be your teacher!” Captain Orestes hollered, clapping his hands twice. “Clear the field! Next wave!”

The vanquished trainees limped away as three more boys charged Cynisca. She dodged their dull-tipped spears, then hurled her own shield like a discus thrower in the Olympics. One boy immediately toppled into the grass; the other two were quickly swatted down with the princess’s sword.

“ ** _Never lose your shield!_** ” Orestes shouted, displeased. “One extra lap as punishment!”

“Yes, captain,” acknowledged Princess Cynisca, wiping her brow. She was breathing heavily, but obviously just warming up. With a quick motion, she snatched up her shield and rehung it on her arm.

Dumbfounded, Kynortas could only sputter with indignation. “You’re telling me,” he snarled at Doric, “that Sparta’s finest warrior is a **_woman?_** ”

“They say that Cynisca was blessed by both Aphrodite and Ares when she was born,” the slave boy said with envy. “Her skill was so great, Captain Orestes couldn’t refuse her in his _syssitia_.” He added, “It was prophesied that one day, she will show The Way Secure Sparta’s Future. I have no doubt of it.”

As Doric was speaking, Prince Agis made a sudden hand signal. Then the handsome, brash youth charged Cynisca, roaring like a bull.

The princess whirled around, setting herself into a wide-legged stance. The two combatants exchanged vicious blows with their swords, and the crack of wood-on-wood filled the air. The spectators were nearly afraid to watch.

And then, while Cynisca was distracted, five other trainees approached, careful to stay behind her. They moved swiftly, crotched low, their weapons ready.

“An ambush!” Kynortas grinned. “The prince fights dirty.”

The nearest of the stealthy attackers raised his sword. The motion must have cut through the air with just enough of a _whoosh_ , for Cynisca’s glance shot back over her exposed shoulder. Too late, she realized the trap.

The princess roared in anger, throwing all of her weight in the direction of the five newcomers. With her shield, she plowed into them, surprising the boys, and knocking them in all directions.

“ ** _Arrgh!_** ” cried Prince Agis, red-faced and furious. He savagely swung his sword, and knocked Cynisca’s own blade from her grasp.

Disarmed, the princess gripped her shield with both her hands, then swung it in a full, round circle. The young men shouted in pain and confusion as the heavy wood connected with skin and bone. But they pressed the attack. Two of them managed to grab Cynisca’s shield and rip it from her grasp.

Completely naked and disarmed, Cynisca wasted no time. Faster than a striking snake, her hands shot out, seizing the spear of one cadet, the sword of another. She wrenched the weapons free, skillfully yanking both boys off their feet. They crashed into one another, then dropped to the earth. They remained motionless.

Wailing like a banshee, the battle-mad princess set upon her remaining attackers. Her fury caused the men to wilt before her, and with expert swordwork, she cut them down.

Soon, only Cynisca and Prince Agis were left.

Sweaty, heaving for breath, and looking enraged, the naked prince and princess faced one another, each holding a sword in their hands. The two began circling, searching for weaknesses.

“Those two,” Kynortas said suddenly, “they are brother and sister?”

“Oh no,” replied Doric. “Sparta has two kings, remember? Princess Cynisca is of the Agiad line; her father is the senior king. Prince Agis is of the Eurypontid line, of the lesser kings.”

“How backward,” Kynortas snorted.

Without warning, Cynisca lashed out, her strike faster than lightening. Agis’ sword was struck from his hand, and flew through the air. Surprise lit upon the prince’s face. Then, using the flat part of her blade, Cynisca struck him across the cheek, **_hard_**.

Agis cried out, and dropped to the earth.

“Ambush me, Agis?” Cynisca seethed, standing over her fallen opponent. “You lowly worm! One day I’ll-“

“Silence!” boomed Captain Orestes. “Defeat in the ring only teaches you! Learn from your pain! Clear the field!”

Nursing their bruises, Prince Agis and his companions hopped or crawled away. All of them threw dark glances at the warrior princess.

“Anyone else?” called out Orestes. “Anyone else to challenge our champion?”

Suddenly, none of the other trainees wanted to make eye contact with their teacher.

But at this, Kynortas burst out into loud guffaws. He began applauding, as if he’d just attended a comedy in the amphitheater.

Everyone pivoted to stare at the boorish poet.

“You have a comment, stranger?” Captain Orestes growled. “Be warned: Sparta does not tolerate insult.”

Kynortas gripped his walking-stick and climbed to his feet, which looked quite difficult to do. The poet was still chuckling harshly.

“You Spartans,” he chided loudly, making sure all could hear him. “You have such faith in the power of your fists. But you don’t know what **_real power_** is.”

The crowd frowned and crossed their arms.

“A wise man wouldn’t say such words,” Captain Orestes warned, “unless he was prepared to prove them.”

“The world is changing, Sparta,” Kynortas said grandly, walking into the field. “The scholars are learning more every day. Soon, very soon, men will not be ruled by the man with the sword, but the man who knows the secrets of the universe.” He grinned wickedly. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it.”

The old poet pointed a crooked finger at Princess Cynisca. “I challenge your champion in open combat.”

This provoked raised eyebrows and muttering from the onlookers. “He’s mad!” several people near Doric exclaimed.

Captain Orestes cocked his head to one side. “You sure, stranger? Here in Sparta, we-“

“I know, I know, you think might makes right,” Kynortas sneered, shouldering his way into the training circle. Still leaning his walking-stick, he approached the nude princess, who was still firmly holding a wooden sword in her fist.

“Very well,” Orestes allowed. “Begin combat.”

The young princess dropped into a fighting stance, one foot firmly planted on the ground before.

Suddenly, Kynortas extended a bony hand toward Cynisca. “Look at me, princess,” he said rapidly. “Look into my eyes, look deeper, and deeper still. How can I harm you? Look deeper, and see what power I might have to offer you. Look deeper!”

Caught off-guard, Cynisca hesitated. She opened her mouth.

But Kynortas spoke in a rapid-fire manner. “Do not speak! Look into my eyes, my eyes only, and only my eyes, focus only on them, look deeper and deeper in a moment I will snap my fingers and you will discover that you are concentrating so well that every muscle in your body will be like bronze, heavy and locked in place, heavy and locked in place, so still you cannot move them, gaze deeper into my eyes, finding that you are completely unable to move… **_now!_** ”

The poet dramatically snapped his fingers, just before the confused Cynisca’s face. She blinked exactly once.

And then, to her astonishment, the princess found that her entire body was petrified. Her arms, legs, and head were no longer in her own control. The harder she strained, the more her muscles seemed to fuse together. It was as if she’d been turned into a tree.

Chuckling softly, Kynortas straightened, then strolled casually to the side of the motionless princess. “You see, Sparta?” he called out, waggling a finger. “The world is changing. Your finest warriors will not be enough to impose yourself on the new dawn that is coming.”

And then, taking his time, Kynortas swung his walking-stick, striking Cynisca behind her knee. The princess cried out as her leg gave way, and she toppled to the hard earth.

Instantly, she found that her body was hers to control once more. Scrambling off the grass, she glared up at the stranger.

“A trick!” Cynisca shouted, furious. “He put a spell on me!”

Kynortas quickly held up a hand. “No spell!” he protested. “I defeated you, princess, because the power of my mind was greater than your own will. I have the superior weapon.”

Cynisca scrambled to her feet. “Let’s see you try that again, you-“

“Hold!” shouted Captain Orestes.

All eyes turned to the old commander.

Orestes nodded once at Kynortas. “Victory to the stranger. Stand down, Cynisca. Let the pain be your teacher.”

Gritting her teeth, the princess forced herself to relax.

“Yes, captain,” was all she said.

*** *** ***


	2. If I’m to Survive What’s Coming

Late the next evening, King Cleomenes II, the Princess Cynisca’s father, hosted a _symposium_ (or banquet), in honor of Demeter, the goddess of harvest. Sparta needed grain, and the omens for the coming summer were not favorable. The fickle goddess had to be mollified.

As was traditional for such a social occasion, the _symposium_ was for wealthy men only. After seeing to it that an impressive sacrifice was offered up to the goddess, the attendees would dine on roast pig, honey cakes, chestnuts, spiced breads, and grapes. Later, there would be wine and wild, drunken talk, and later still, pleasure-women from the brothels and much debauchery. Hopefully Demeter would overlook the last part of the festivities.

But the mood at the beginning of the gathering was dour. The tensions between Cleomenes and Sparta’s second king, Archidamus III, were rising. City politics were descending into bitter partisanship. It was growing harder and harder for the tax-collectors to fill the city coffers. Even now, the supporters of Cleomenes were glaring at Archidamus’ backers, and Archidamus’ backers were glaring back. Conversations were low and angry. The lyre-player in the corner was soothing absolutely no-one.

“Have you heard Cleomenes’ latest outrage?” one cluster of elders growled.

“Archidamus will doom this city, you mark my words,” snarled a separate group.

But then, two slender women appeared at the top of the stairs. The Lords of Sparta fell silent, each casting respectful gazes upward. Every man bowed his head, once.

Now looking over the hall were the Princess Cynisca, attended by her faithful handmaiden, Sotira. The princess was indescribably beautiful, dressed in a purple linen gown, one that had been custom-tailored to her svelte body. The dress billowed a little, teasing the men by briefly clinging to the princess’s thighs, hips, breasts, and stomach. She wore her dark hair tied up with ribbons, although absent strands of hair curled down about her face and graceful neck. A small crown of blue flowers circled the princess’s temple. Her hands, arms, and feet were bare, but the men noticed plain rings of gold on each of her fingers and toes.

As benefiting her station, Sotira wore a plain gown, pure white, that hung off her shoulders and draped all the way down the floor. The handmaiden had taken great care not to upstage her beautiful mistress; yet, the servant-girl was no less lovely and alluring. Her dress hugged her stomach and hips, displaying her hourglass figure for all to see. Sotira’s body was curvier than Cynisca’s, and she had a fuller chest and rear. More than one of Sparta’s aristocrats eyed the young woman, and wondered if they might purchase her for their private brothels.

The princess beamed down to all in attendance. “Welcome, my lords,” she called out, and her voice was bright and playful. “May you leave all troubles behind while in my father’s house!”

The aristocrats politely applauded this traditional greeting. Still smiling, Cynisca flicked a knowing look at her handmaiden. “That oughta hold ‘em,” she muttered, so that only Sotira could hear her.

Sotira merely smiled knowingly.

*** *** ***

Cynisca and Sotira had met years ago, and under conditions of tragedy.

When Cynisca was four years old, her loving mother, the beautiful Queen Pamphile, had died while in labor with her second child. Both mother and baby were lost. Poor King Cleomenes had been devastated. He retreated into affairs of state and the bottle. And suddenly, little Cynisca was all alone in the world.

Shortly after, Sparta conquered the kingdom of Adania. When the slaughter was over, the Spartan army learned that Adania’s king and queen had been killed, leaving behind a weeping orphan girl. Cleomenes claimed this child as his slave, and took her back to his palace. There, the girl was renamed Sotira, a proper Spartan name. Cynisca was seven years old; Sotira merely six.

Officially, Sotira was to be Cynisca’s handmaiden, with no more rights than any of the other lowly helots. But Cleomenes had seen that his lonely daughter needed companionship. The two girls, with no-one but each other for company, soon formed a tight bond. They were good playmates, running and giggling about the palace in a thousand different invented games.

As the two girls blossomed into womanhood, they made attempts to adopt into the more traditional mistress/servant roles. Sotira, after all, had no legal rights, and Cynisca was the Princess of Sparta. So in public, Sotira was careful to be subservient and demure. In private, however, she could still chide Cynisca as if the two were sisters.

*** *** ***

Princess Cynisca descended the stairs with a warm smile on her lips. Sotira followed her, her head slightly bowed.

The Lords of Sparta nodded and scraped, as custom demanded. The princess, they knew, would appear, make some pleasant comments, then depart. So they smiled politely, exchanged a few remarks, and admired the princess’ supple body once her back was turned.

Cynisca accepted a goblet of wine from a servant, and made sure to exchange a toast with the supporters of her father.

At the center of the party was a heavy-set man, a wealthy weapons-merchant from Thessaly by the name of Pleistarchus. The man chucked freely, and already was red-faced from an early helping of wine. “You Spartans!” he joshed, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “You once made the world tremble with your armies! Now look at you, you can’t even host a descent party.” He let loose a deep belly-laugh.

Lycurgus, a Spartan and supporter of King Archidamus, glared at the inhospitable guest. “Mind your tone, sir.”

“Or what?” snorted Pleistarchus. “You’ll duel me to the death? And lose out on the swords and gold that I bring to your city?” He laughed again.

Pleistarchus turned, finding himself face-to-face with the lovely princess. “Ah!” he beamed. “Your Highness, how wonderful to see you!”

The fat merchant seized Cynisca’s hand and gave it a slobbering kiss. The eyes of every Spartan bulged at such poor manners.

“Ah, my lord,” Cynisca said smoothly, yanking back her hand, “how pleasant to greet you in my father’s house. Tell me, up in Thessaly, do they-“

“Upon Aphrodite!” Pleistarchus exclaimed, his eyes falling on Sotira. “ ** _Two_** princesses? Why, who knew that Sparta could boast such beauty!”

He snatched Sotira’s hand and kissed it too.

Cynisca grinned, delighted at the expression of embarrassment and horror on Sotira’s face. “Ah, forgive me, my lord,” she demurred. “But this is Sotira, my handmaiden.”

“Handmaiden?” Pleistarchus echoed stupidly, first staring at first Sotira’s face, and then her breasts.

“Do be sure to enjoy yourself, my Lord,” Sotira said diplomatically.

She withdrew her hand, and then princess and servant glided further into the party. They carefully maintained pleasant smiles.

“Hermes’ balls!” Cynisca muttered under her breath. “Seriously, could that clod be any more grotesque?”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Sotira warned.

“Yeah, yeah, true ‘dat,” the princess agreed with a sigh.

She suddenly frowned. Far across the hall, her keen eyes spotted Kynortas the poet. The man had purchased a fresh tunic, and was merrily conversing with Archidamus supporters. In his right hand, he twirled a long, unlit smoking-pipe between his fingers. In his left hand, he gripped his walking-stick.

“Hey,” Cynisca glowered, “how did **_that man_** get an invite?”

Sotira followed her mistress’ gaze. “I don’t know,” she admitted plainly. “Maybe-“

The princess flashed an angry expression. “’Tir,” she said sharply, “you’re **_supposed_** to know. That’s why I have you talk with the Chief Servants.”

Realizing her error, the handmaiden turned pale. “I apologize, princess, I-“

Cynisca scowled. “Go and wait for me in my chambers,” she said crossly. Then, without another word, she turned and moved toward Kynortas, still on the other side of the hall.

Her cheeks burning with shame, Sotira glided from the vast chamber. She could feel the snide gazes of the aristocrats upon her; they’d witnessed Cynisca’s tongue-lashing.

Over the past year, as Cynisca became more aware of her responsibilities in a destabilized and decaying Sparta, the princess could become irritable, even vengeful. She was aware of the prophecy on her shoulders, and she feared the gods’ punishment, should she fail. Sotira longed for happier days.

*** *** ***

Princess Cynisca was halfway to Kynortas the poet when, in mid-step, her ankle struck something hard and unyielding. She nearly toppled onto the marble floor.

But the princess skipped, quickly regaining her balance. The nearby lords glanced at her and chuckled to themselves. But none of them dared to openly mock the royal stumble.

Cynisca’s beautiful eyes flashed. **_Who dared to trip the Princess of Sparta?_**

Standing before her now was Prince Agis, his arms folded over his thin chest, a lopsided smirk on his handsome face. The hotheaded prince wore a plain tunic laced with golden trim, and brand new sandals. Like Cynisca, there was a thin crown of flowers about his temple to signify his royal bearing.

“Watch your step there, princess,” Agis chortled.

Cynisca glared at her peer, willing herself to calm down. Ever since he was very young, Agis has always been spoiled, and a sore loser to boot. No doubt he sought petty revenge for his defeat in military training.

Now the nearby aristocrats were openly staring. Perhaps they were unaware, but King Archidamus’ supporters were inching to stand behind the prince. Cleomenes men were drifting to Cynisca’s side. Unspoken tension was rising.

 _Oh fuck_ , thought Cynisca. The last thing her father needed was a partisan brawl. Not during the Festival of Demeter!

So the beautiful princess merely forced a polite smile. “So good to see you, tonight, my prince,” she said coolly.

Agis smirked, and Cynisca longed to throw a scathing insult – or a right hook – in his direction. The wine in her belly certainly made the temptation hard to resist. But violence would only make things worse for Sparta.

So she forced a playful laugh. “Come, my lords!” the princess called out. “There is more wine, I’m sure!”

The aristocrats seemed almost disappointed that there would not be a fight. But they returned to their murmured conversations.

*** *** ***

Cynisca reached Kynortas the poet with a few more paces. The stranger from Sicyon brightened as she approached. “Ah, your Highness!” he exclaimed, immediately ignoring the two gentlemen with whom he was conversing. “How lovely to see you.”

“Yes, thank you, my lord,” replied Cynisca, using the formal greeting. “May the gods smile upon you.”

Kynortas smiled. “How kind.” His expression faded somewhat at the princess’ pointed expression. “Ah, is there something I can do for you, your highness?”

“There is,” Cynisca said evenly. She raised one thin eyebrow. “You can tell me how you defeated me in mock combat.”

*** *** ***

Kynortas insisted that he could not discuss this matter in the banquet hall. “Oh, I’m happy to share my secret with Sparta,” he professed. “But… and forgive me, Highness… but there are spies here from the other kingdoms.” He glanced about. “Is there somewhere private where we can talk?”

There was the ring of truth in this caution. Cynisca knew her father endlessly worried about what secrets were overheard in his halls by foreign ears. Gesturing with one finger, the beautiful princess led Kynortas out into the palace gardens.

Here, there was a smooth stone walkway that lazily snaked throughout the grounds, coming into a neat loop about a small pond. At the center of the blue water, a small fountain babbled away happily. And all about were thick flowerbeds of gladiolus, hyacinths, and daffodils. The flowers were in bloom and were quite fragrant to both the eyes and nose. Carefully-pruned cypress trees lined the edge of the garden.

There was no breeze. Overhead, the stars twinkled. The palace servants had lit the evening torches, and the garden was bathed in flickering, orange firelight. The sounds of the banquet could be heard coming from the palace.

“Charming,” Kynortas said with approval. “Even in Sicyon, our king and queen don’t have anything like this!”

“You know Sicyon’s king and queen, then?” Cynisca asked.

“I’ve composed for them, on occasion,” the poet replied vaguely. “But – forgive me – I just assumed that in Sparta, a garden would be considered an indulgence! You Spartans have a reputation for placing brutality over beauty, you know.”

As he spoke, two palace guards appeared, and stood at attention at the garden entrance. Their muscle-bound chests were bare, but they wore Spartan plumes and flowing cloaks. Each clutched a spear. Their dark eyes glowed from under their helmets. Both were watching the princess and her guest carefully.

“Ah,” Kynortas said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“These men keep an eye on me,” said Cynisca haughtily. “So try your freezing spell on me again, and they will gut you. Now, you spoke of a secret?”

“Of course, of course,” the poet replied. “Oh! Are those flowers bear's breeches? Ah, yes! Quite lovely…”

The older man hobbled down the path, right to the edge of the pond. Sure enough, just before the water, were the tall stalks of lily-white flowers.

“Lovely, lovely,” Kynortas beamed, caressing the fragile blooms. “We poets are interested in nothing but beauty, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” replied Cynisca, folding her arms across her chest. “Now…”

“Yes, of course,” Kynortas sighed, straightening. “Has your highness heard of my kingdom, fair Sicyon?”

The princess frowned. “You are to the north. A small kingdom, in league with… Corinth, I believe?”

“Oh, Corinth doesn’t bother with us,” Kynortas assured her. “Sicyon is a kingdom of artists and thinkers, not warriors. We have no dreams of conquest.”

“And yet,” Cynisca said dangerously, “you bested me in mock combat. How?”

“Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?” Kynortas produced a small sack from his robes, and began stuffing his pipe with an odd-smelling white weed. “I do find that a good smoke helps with conversation.”

 _Is this old fool stalling?_ Cynisca thought with annoyance. In Sparta, it was not wise to cause royalty to wait.

“So,” the poet smiled, “some time ago, one of our high priests had a strange dream. He foresaw that the gods would bless him with a special knowledge, a knowledge about the human mind. In fact, Hypnos, the God of Sleep, visited him in this vision, and whispered these precious secrets into the priest’s ear.”

“What does this have to do with combat?” Cynisca asked impatiently.

Kynortas used a fallen twig to catch a flame from the torches, and then light his pipe. After a few heavy puffs, a white, wispy plume was rising from the smoking-instrument. “Why, everything, princess,” he said with a light smile. “And nothing. You’ll understand shortly. Anyway, the God of Sleep told our priest about a way to put people into a strange and powerful trance. Once in this almost-magical state, a person would lose their will and happily follow and obey all the instructions of their enchanter. It would be as if they were under a spell. Hypnos gave our priest the special knowledge to use this power on another.”

Cynisca listened intently, puzzled. What was Kynortas prattling on about? The poet’s words were speeding by faster and faster, as if he were reciting from memory. And his pipe-smoke had a strange, sweet odor, something like cumin and pine, gently mixed together. She found it soothing.

“Our priest eagerly learned all that he could from the Sleep-God. When the lesson was finished, the priest dubbed this special power _hypnosis_ , in honor of the deity who gave him this knowledge.”

Kynortas paused to draw again on his pipe.

“At the same time, Hypnos guided the priest out of the city, high up on a hill. Here, the priest found a small field of a special herb, a long thin plant that grew on a white stalk and had few leaves. ‘ _I have blessed this patch of earth for thee_ ,’ Hypnos explained. ‘ _Tend this magical crop well; it can only grow on this hill, no-where else._ ’”

To Cynisca, the poet’s voice took on a soothing property. Her earlier impatience was gone, and now she felt calm and resigned. As Kynortas spoke, she found she was becoming aware of little else but his voice and his bright eyes. She could not look away.

Kynortas continued: “Then the God of Sleep gave special instructions. ‘ _When you burn this magic herb,_ ’ he told the priest, ‘ _the smoke will_ _cause those who have drunken wine to feel light-headed. Their minds will become clouded. You will then be able to place them into hypnosis quite easily.’_ ”

“So you see, princess,” the poet said, “you are about to know the power of our hypnosis. In my pipe, I’ve been burning the sleeping-weed. You now feel calm, peaceful, subdued. Your mind is relaxed. You are happy to focus on my words and let all other distractions fade away.”

It was true. Cynisca found that she felt oddly detached, as if she were slipping into a strange waking dream. Her body felt heavy. She rested her weight evenly across both legs. Her arms, once folded across her chest, became limp and fell to her side. She had no desire to move, or to think. It was as if her mind was drifting away into slumber…

“Very good, very good, Your Highness,” murmured the older man. He smiled pleasantly. “Now, allow your eyes to close on their own, and you will go into a deep, powerful sleep…”

Slowly, Cynisca’s eyes did close, and without any conscious thought from the princess. She felt her lungs inhaling and expelling air, and her muscles become loose and disengaged. Even though her head remained high, she descended into complete relaxation. Her will surrendered to the voice now floating through her still mind.

Kynortas glanced across the garden at the two sentries. The guards were watching carefully, but were too far away to hear a word or see the princess’ sleeping face.

So the poet spoke on, encouraging Cynisca to relax even deeper, to concentrate on him alone, and allow him to guide her completely. She listened without a single care, grateful this wonderful feeling of submission.

“And now, princess,” Kynortas’ voice said, dominating Cynisca’s mind, “you are now in very deep hypnosis and completely in my power. You will follow and obey all of my instructions. When you awaken, you will have no memory of this conversation, yet you will carry out all my commands, completely convinced that every thought I put into your pretty head was your own idea.

“When you rise from your bed tomorrow morning,” the poet went on, “you will be absolutely convinced that while Sparta was **_once_** a great kingdom, it is now a fading power in the world. Your father is no longer capable of leading his kingdom to greatness. If nothing is done, your people will fall into ruin and slavery within a few years.

“For a week, you will worry and fret, yet you will tell no-one of your fears. Then, seven days from now, you will have an irresistible urge to travel to Sicyon. You have heard that Sicyon’s King Machanidas possesses a strange, new power called ‘ _hypnosis,_ ’ and you hope he may teach it to you. Your fondest wish is to learn this magic knowledge and then return to Sparta so that you may pass this wisdom on to your people. If anyone asks you why you must go, you will immediately respond with, ‘ _Going to Sicyon will save Sparta_ _._ ’ That expression will become a rock-solid conviction in your mind, the more you speak it. Above all, you will not do **_anything_** that will allow the Spartan kings to know where you are going.

“And now, princess, I will snap my fingers. When I do, you will awaken, and remember nothing. You will be convinced that you and I had a brief, pleasant conversation. Nothing more. You will follow and obey all of my instructions, without any awareness that you are doing this because I commanded it.”

The poet paused to empty out his pipe into the pond. The lit embers hissed, then died on the water’s surface. He smiled to himself, then snapped his fingers in the air, exactly once.

And Princess Cynisca blinked, coming back to life. She glanced about, then absently rubbed her eyes.

“…I’m sorry, poet,” she mumbled. “You were saying?”

“Just that it is such a lovely night, Your Highness,” Kynortas supplied. “But we’ve been away from the banquet long enough. Shall we rejoin the party?”

The princess wrinkled her brow. She had the strangest feeling that she was forgetting something…

“Um…” she mused, “…yes. Yes. Yes, we should go back inside.”

Cynisca shook her head, clearing away the cobwebs. The strange, distracted feeling within her mind evaporated. Her mind cleared.

“Very well,” Kynortas said brightly. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your father’s cooks; I’m eager to eat from his table! Come, let’s go.”

The poet and princess retreated from the garden. Kynortas went directly into the palace, but Cynisca hesitated for a moment at the garden’s entrance.

“Is everything alright, Your Highness?” one of the guards asked her.

“Hmm?” Cynisca replied. “Oh, I’m fine.” She smiled reassuringly. “The poet and I just had a brief, pleasant conversation. Nothing more.”

*** *** ***

When the dawn came, King Cleomenes’ banquet was quickly forgotten. Travelers from Crete reported alarming developments in the outside world: Across the Aegean Sea, the King of Persia was raising another army. The foreign king’s motives were unknown, but Athens and Cyprus were strengthening their fleets. War could be upon Sparta before the harvest was over!

The city was buzzing with rumors. As Cynisca and Sotira walked through the city forum district, heading to combat practice, they could see the people shaking their heads while in discussions. The mood was grim.

“You don’t think Captain Orestes and the _syssitia_ will be called up for duty, do you?” Sotira nervously asked Cynisca. “I mean, the squad has nearly completed combat training… but you guys have never handled real weapons!”

“Eh?” Cynisca replied. Her expression was dark.

Sotira risked a direct glance at her mistress. Ever since Cynisca had berated the handmaiden during the symposium, the princess had been in a foul mood.

“Do you think you will be off to war soon?” Sotira asked tenderly. “I mean, they’ve never allowed a woman in combat before… but you’re such a skilled fighter…”

“I don’t know, ‘Tir!” the princess snapped. She scowled.

The handmaiden studied Cynisca’s face. “Are you alright, princess? You seem-“

“I’m fine,” Cynisca said curtly.

*** *** ***

But something was clearly bothering the beautiful young princess. In practice combat, she was distracted and clumsy. Prince Agis bested her in a duel, and took great pleasure in sending her tumbling to the ground.

“Victory to the prince,” announced Captain Orestes. “Let the pain be your teacher. Next combatants!”

*** *** ***

Cynisca’s mood had not improved when she and Sotira returned to the palace that evening. The princess had a big bruise on one shin, and she now walked with a slight limp.

“Let’s get you in a hot bath before supper,” suggested Sotira. Cynisca didn’t argue.

As the two young women were crossing the palace’s Grand Hall, they overheard the voice of two men from the adjoining chamber. “…then you will be purchasing two hundred swords, and as many shields, Your Majesty,” the first male said.

Cynisca frowned. She knew that voice.

“Yes, that is what I’ll need,” King Cleomenes replied. He sounded tired. Ruling a city like Sparta could be a weary burden. “Have it ready within a month. And I’ll wish you good fortune.”

“Ah, yes. There is another matter I would like to discuss, Your Highness?” the first man continued. “A trifle, it should not trouble your royal mind.”

Cleomenes sighed. “What now, Pleistarchus?”

Instantly, Cynisca placed the first man’s voice. Pleistarchus, the fat merchant from Thessaly, the fellow who had attended last night’s banquet with such appalling manners! The very thought of the man made her skin crawl.

“I, ah, have been, er, shall we say, lonely these last few months,” Pleistarchus wheedled. “Oh, I have my wife and my two pleasure-girls, to be sure… But lately, I’ve been thinking, I’d like a fresh blossom. A new girl to enhance my carnal delights. I’m sure you understand.”

“You’re a man of considerable appetites,” the king replied dryly.

“Yes, great King,” said Pleistarchus. “Last night, in your hall, I met the most enchanting creature. A servant girl, in your household. …Sotira, I believe her name was.”

Instantly Cynisca and Sotira froze in their tracks. Fear struck the handmaiden to the core.

“Oh, this girl is a very lovely flower, to be sure,” the older man gushed. “Small and pretty, just how I like. But you could tell, she has nice, perky breasts and a round bottom! Oh, how I love spanking womens’ bottoms. You wouldn’t happen to know if this Sotira girl is a virgin, would you?”

“Pleistarchus…” groaned King Cleomenes.

“Let me come to the point, my King,” Pleistarchus said. “I’d like to purchase that girl. Shall we say… four oxen, twenty pieces of gold, and my finest riding horse in exchange? And I will also make a sacrifice at the alter of Athena for you as a blessing.”

Before she could help herself, Sotira was gripping Cynisca’s arm in horror. Handmaidens in Sparta were the king’s royal property; Cleomenes could barter away any servant that he chose.

Cynisca listened to her father’s conversation without expression. Now she shifted her jaw slightly, as if mildly annoyed at the circumstances. She flicked her gaze over Sotira… but her thoughts were unreadable.

“That Sotira girl has been with my house for a long time,” King Cleomenes rumbled. “I doubt my daughter would approve of her sale.”

“Great king, don’t tell me you are sentimental,” Pleistarchus exclaimed. “Slaves are to be used, that is the will of the gods. And, forgive me, but your daughter is a fully-grown woman now.” He scoffed, “She doesn’t need a playmate.”

“Mmm,” muttered Cleomenes in agreement. “Perhaps you’re right. But I don’t want oxen or horses. Add another fifty swords to my total. And you will have to compensate my daughter.”

Sotira felt as if the floor had opened up beneath her. **_She was to be sold?!?_**

Cynisca narrowed her eyes. “Follow me, but stay out of sight,” she instructed.

*** *** ***

In a few powerful strides, Cynisca crossed the Great Hall, pushing her way into her father’s audience chamber. Sotira was careful to duck behind a column as these double doors swung open.

King Cleomenes slouched in his throne. A handsome, strapping man in his early thirties, the monarch of Sparta wore a regal tunic and belt, and there was an iron-wrought crown upon his brow. He frowned as his daughter burst into the room.

“My king,” Cynisca said, bowing low. “I heard voices, and I thought-“

“You know that you’re not to interrupt me when conducting affairs of state, girl,” Cleomenes glowered. “Heh. Women should not even be permitted in the throne room!”

“My apologies, father,” replied the princess. She smiled mischievously. “Can’t a daughter check up on her ol’ dad?” she said playfully.

The king sighed, then grinned. “You have your mother’s spunk,” he admitted.

But then the king’s expression hardened. “But we’re discussing serious matters, girl. War is coming, and Sparta is not ready. By Hades, Sparta is not even united!”

“ ** _You’re_** the senior king, dad,” Cynisca reminded her father. “You should remind King Archidamus – and his weasel son, Agis – that the city’s power rests in you, and-“

“Its not the simple,” Cleomenes cut her off. “You can’t possibly understand politics. **_Nothing_** will unite our two feuding houses.” Weary once more, he let out a long sigh.

“Oh,” the king added, indicating his guest, “you remember the merchant Pleistarchus, right?”

Pleistarchus blushed and bowed. “Your Highness,” he burbled, then moved to kiss Cynisca’s hand. The princess grudgingly permitted this slobbering gesture once more.

“I have some news, Cynisca,” King Cleomenes said absently. “You’re a grown woman, you don’t need that childhood playmate anymore. And I don’t like how Sotira acts as if you two are friends. So I’m selling Sotira to Pleistarchus here, and we’ll get you a new, more suitable, more mature handmaiden in the morning.”

The princess stiffened. “You’re selling Sotira?” she said coldly.

“Its done,” her father responded.

“I’ll give Sotira a good home,” promised Pleistarchus.

The princess cast her beautiful eyes downward. “You shame us, father,” she said softly. “I thought the Agiad line was prouder than this.”

Outraged, King Cleomenes leapt to his feet. “You dare lecture me on pride, girl? I taught you better than that!”

But the princess stood her ground. “You taught me that all the world watches Sparta, and all of Sparta watches this house,” Cynisca flung back. “How’s it going to look when a slimy merchant raids our household for a new whore?”

Cleomenes fell silent.

“Spartan kings are the pimps for Thessaly’s fatcats, eh?” sneered Cynisca. “The moment this pig is bored with Sotira, he’ll be back, offering more gold for our maidens. So who’s next?”

“You go too far,” warned the king.

“I worry about **_Spartan honor_** ,” the princess retorted.

This barb struck home. Cynisca knew how to manipulate her father.

The king let out a long breath. Then, with a cold glare, he turned to Pleistarchus.

“Take your gold, and go home, little man,” he growled.

Pleistarchus looked outraged. “But, great king-“

“ ** _GO!!!_** ” roared Cleomenes.

The merchant from Thessaly scampered from the Throne Room.

*** *** ***

Try as she might, Sotira could not suppress the grateful tears when she saw Cynisca again. The handmaiden fell to her knees, grasping Cynisca’s hand when the princess emerged back into the Great Hall.

“Thank you, your highness,” she nearly wept. “Thank you!”

“Calm down,” replied Cynisca with a small smile. “C’mon, before someone sees you.”

Sotira dabbed her eyes, surprised at how emotional she felt. She rose to her feet, then followed her mistress from the Great Hall.

In the privacy of the corridors, Cynisca seemed to relax. She laid a gentle hand on Sotira’s forearm.

“I was hard on you,” the princess admitted. “I’m sorry, ‘Tir, I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’ve had a lot on your shoulders,” Sotira sniffed.

“Yeah, well…” Cynisca shrugged. “What would Captain Orestes say? _‘We grow strength from overcoming our obstacles.’_ ” Her voice softened. “I don’t have any friends in this world, ‘Tir. Only you. If I’m to survive what’s coming… **_I need my girl_**.”

Sotira’s eyes moistened with tears again.

*** *** ***


	3. Athena’s Prophecy

Every morning, just before dawn, Sotira would wake her mistress with a goblet of hot root tea. The handmaiden would then bathe Cynisca, help her dress, and fix her hair with crushed flower petals and ribbons. Now that Cynisca was training in Captain Orestes’ _syssitia_ , most of these beautifying efforts were in vain the moment the princess began her military exercises. But Sotira always made the effort nonetheless.

Several mornings after Pleistarchus was banished, Sotira entered Cynisca’s chambers, as usual with a steaming cup of tea. To the servant-girl’s surprise, Cynisca was already awake, standing before her windows, and glaring out at the city. The princess was still in her billowing sleeping-robes. Her hair was a brambled mess.

“Your Highness!” Sotira exclaimed. “By Hera, girl, what’s wrong?”

“Hrrmgh…!” grumbled Cynisca. “I couldn’t sleep.” She turned, and Sotira could see big bags under the lovely princess’s eyes.

“Ach, an evil spirit is plaguing you, no doubt,” the handmaiden fussed. She set down the tea and hurried to remove Cynisca’s robes. “I’ll call for the temple priestesses, we’ll see if we can’t-“

“No, no, no, that won’t help,” snapped Cynisca. “I can’t stand those holier-than-thou temple biddies, anyway.”

Frowning, Sotira lifted the princess’s sleeping garment from the royal shoulders, exposing Cynisca’s naked body. “Okay. After your bath, I’ll prepare your processional dress. We should still visit the Shrine of Athena; you can sacrifice a-“

“Oh, forget the processional dress,” Cynisca ordered. “Get the both of us some traveling clothes. And well-made riding sandals. Then sneak into the kitchens and snatch some bread, olives, figs, some-“

“Princess!” exclaimed Sotira, shocked. “You’re leaving the city?”

“Don’t question me,” Cynisca said, her beautiful eyes dark. “I’m riding north. And so are you.”

*** *** ***

But Cynisca’s plan hit a snag almost immediately. When the princess and handmaiden – clad in traveling cloaks and carrying saddlebags of food – arrived at the royal stables, they were surprised to see King Cleomenes and his entire entourage there, each mounting a horse. Already, the king was astride Gorgo, his favorite stallion. Gorgo was a magnificent black warhorse, gigantic in stature and ego.

“Aphrodite’s tits!” cursed Cynisca. Quickly, she pushed Sotira back into the corridor.

The young handmaiden escaped detection, but the princess did not. “Cynisca!” Cleomenes called out, then trotted over. “My girl, what are you doing here?” Suspicious, the king’s eyes glared at his daughter’s riding apparel.

Cynisca made a helpless gesture. “Hey, Dad,” she said weakly. “I, uh, was thinking about riding today.”

Cleomenes frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be in training with Captain Orestes?”

“I, ah, training is canceled today,” the teenage princess fibbed.

A flicker of anger rippled over Cleomenes’ broad face. “Don’t lie to me, girl. I’ve known Orestes a long, long time; the defense of Sparta means everything to that man.” In a voice of iron, the king added, “ ** _He doesn’t cancel._** ”

Cynisca looked exasperated. “By Zeus, Dad-“

“Don’t you ‘ _By Zeus_ ’ me,” glowered the king. He pointed an accusing finger at his daughter. “When you came to me and said you wanted military training with the boys, you **_assured_** me that you would consider that duty as sacred. And – gods help me – I agreed. And I had to render half of Sparta’s traditions to do it! Moving Sisyphus’ boulder would have been an easier task.” He glared at his daughter’s riding cloak and bulging saddlebags. “And now, you want to throw away that duty for what? **_A picnic?_** ”

“Dad,” Cynisca said with forced patience, “I can’t explain, but I have to-“

“ ** _Get to training, girl!_** ” snarled Cleomenes, enraged. “Before I have you whipped!”

*** *** ***

“So… maybe the journey to Sicyon is a bad idea, then?” Sotira said hopefully.

The beautiful handmaiden and her mistress were walking across Sparta, weaving through the crowds in the market. Cynisca was still in a foul mood; she was kicking at pebbles as they walked.

“I mean,” continued Sotira, “it really seems like the gods don’t like this idea of journeying out of the city, eh?”

“If the gods didn’t want me to go,” Cynisca replied darkly, “they’d send thunderbolts or black eagles as an omen. They wouldn’t use my stupid ‘ol dad.”

Exasperated, Sotira wanted to know, “But why-“

“Going to Sicyon will save Sparta,” the princess insisted. She straightened her head. “So we’re going. Once the horses are back and had have a little rest, we’ll snatch two of them this evening.”

“ ** _Tonight?_** ” Sotira asked in alarm. “Princess, journeying after dark is dangerous! There are slavers, highwaymen-“

“We’re going,” said Cynisca firmly. “Going to Sicyon will save Sparta.” And she could not be dissuaded.

*** *** ***

After _syssitia_ training (Captain Orestes was usually demanding), Cynisca and Sotira returned to the palace. It was three hours before sunset. Already, the kitchens were roasting up the evening supper.

“Don’t bother assembling a meal tray,” said Cynisca. “You get our supplies. I’ll raid the armory and then saddle up two of the best horses.”

“We’re leaving **_now?_** ” Sotira almost wailed.

“Go!” hissed the princess.

*** *** ***

In the stretch of a few minutes, Sotira found herself atop a royal horse, riding beside Cynisca, and a travel cloak wrapped around her lean body. In an act of teenage defiance, Cynisca had taken Gorgo, her father’s favorite horse. A sheathed sword hung from her belt, and a tall hunting spear was in her left hand.

Sotira could not have felt more miserable. The notion of traveling on the open road, commonly known to be dangerous, terrified her. And she didn’t much like horses. Especially Gorgo. In his youth, the warhorse had been wounded in the rear hip, and he’d been in a bad mood ever since. Even now, as Cynisca and Sotira rode, the handmaiden thought Gorgo threw her a brooding glance that seemed to say, _Stay out of my way, girl._

The two women rode north, taking Sparta’s Boreas Avenue. The great street was still filled with people, but it was near the end of the day. Soon, the shops would close and children would be called home for supper and bed.

“Put your hood up,” Cynisca said suddenly. “I don’t want anyone to recognize us as we leave the city.”

Sotira glanced about. The princess was right; onlookers were eyeing the two young women with obvious curiosity. Cynisca’s weapons was attracting additional stares.

“Do it!” Cynisca hissed, slipping on her own hood. Sotira quickly obeyed.

“Maybe, ah, we should wait until the morning? And bribe a few of the palace guards to escort us out of the city…?” the handmaiden suggested.

“No,” responded Cynisca firmly. “Ride on.”

Sotira held her tongue, but fixed her mistress with a stern look. What had gotten into the princess? Why was she being so reckless? Its like she was under a kind of evil spell.

*** *** ***

The northern country road was a wide boulevard, a long strip of beaten earth that rolled through the Spartan farmlands. After an hour, however, the road dwindled down to a path, and then a trail marked with cheaply-carved road stones. The thick forest of cypress, olive, and fig trees lay ahead.

“How far do you want to ride?” asked Sotira, looking up at the waning sun. There was perhaps only an hour of sunlight left.

“We have to get to Sicyon, as soon as possible!” Cynisca almost exploded. “How do you not get this?”

“Well, we’re not going to make it tonight,” countered Sotira. “The horses are exhausted. They’re about to fall asleep beneath us.”

As if to agree, Gorgo stumbled, if only for a step or two.

“Fine, fine,” allowed the princess, clearly frustrated. “Look for a campsite.”

*** *** ***

Thirty minutes later, the young women spotted a thicket off the road, secluded by a natural wall of young olive trees. Here, the ground was dry, and cushioned with ferns and moss. “It’ll do,” Cynisca grumbled, clearly unhappy to be stopping.

The young women dismounted and removed their saddlebags. Immediately, the two horses squatted on the ground, rolled to their sides, and collapsed. Gorgo took care not to lay on his bad hip. He settled to the earth, relaxed, and was soon snoring loudly.

“Apollo’s buns!” exclaimed Sotira. “Man, that creature is noisy.” She scrunched her nose. “I thought horses slept standing up?”

“Horses can **_doze_** while standing,” Cynisca said reluctantly. “But you were right; they were dead tired.” The princess began rooting about in the brush. “Hey, help me look for firewood, will ya?”

*** *** ***

Soon the two young women were sitting before their little fire, nibbling on the hardbread that Sotira had nicked from King Cleomenes’ kitchens. Above them, the wind tussled the treetops. The night was growing cold, and the two women sat close to one another for warmth.

“Your father’s right, you know,” Sotira informed her mistress. “Tomorrow, when you don’t appear for training, Captain Orestes will have you banished from the _syssitia._ ”

Cynisca’s beautiful face grew long and sad. “I know,” she admitted. “But, ‘Tir, I **_must_** do this. I’d rather lose my place under Orestes’ command, but save Sparta for future generations.”

“Save Sparta?” demanded Sotira. “Princess, I’ve served you a long time… but by the gods, I have no flippin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Cynisca agreed, tossing the crust of her bread into the fire. “I know, ‘Tir. But…” She sighed heavily. “I have to do this. I wish I could make you understand.”

The ends of the handmaiden’s mouth turned down. “Maybe the gods have called you on a quest.”

“Maybe,” Cynisca allowed.

A silence fell over the two women. Sotira found herself looking upwards; the night sky was visible through a gap in the trees. Familiar stars smiled down from the heavens.

“You’re like Perseus,” Sotira proposed.

Cynisca raised one quizzical eyebrow.

“See?” the handmaiden said, pointing into the sky. There, neatly framed among the trees, was the constellation Perseus. “He was called away on adventure by Athena, don’t forget.”

Cynisca studied the night sky. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

Sighing, Sotira tossed another dry branch onto the fire. “Well, Athena chose well. You’re perfect for an adventure. You’re a princess, you’re easily the best Spartan warrior in our generation, you’re smart as a whip, and you’re braver than Theseus and Achilles combined.”

“Oh, stop it,” Cynisca frowned.

“You think the gods would send me?” Sotira almost laughed. “I’m everything you’re not. I nearly shit myself stealing bread from the kitchens.”

The princess adopted a skeptical look. “ ** _Please._** You think Perseus went off to fight Medusa with confidence?” She waved a dismissive hand. “In all those old stories, the hero fights with the slimmest of hope.”

Sotira sighed. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason the Fates made you royalty and me the-“

“ ** _Shhh!_** ” Cynisca hissed sharply. She held up a hand. Her body went tense as she strained to listen.

From the road, Sotira could hear distant hoofbeats. **_Riders!_** Many men! Approaching fast, from the south!

A chill raced down the handmaiden’s back. No reputable Greek would be traveling the road after sundown. The men on horseback could only be ruffians. No doubt they’d stop to accost a pair of teenage women. If captured, Cynisca and Sotira could become enslaved. Or murdered. Or raped!

Cynisca swore, and began shoveling dirt onto the fire with her hands. “Help me!”

The two women scrambled, seeking to bury their little campfire. The flames coughed and struggled, but did not last long. The fire died.

And then Princess Cynisca and Sotira were swallowed up by twilight darkness. The two beautiful women crouched but held their heads high, straining their ears. Too late, Cynisca realized her sword was still in its sheath… and was underneath the sleeping Gorgo. The hunting-spear had been propped against an olive tree, but the princess could not spot it in the near-blackness.

The approaching hooves slowed, then stopped. “I thought I saw that campfire, somewhere around there…” a gruff man’s voice said. “Can’t be far.”

“Find ‘em,” a second man ordered.

Sotira heard the rustling of grass and bushes as the men dismounted. Soft, crunching footfalls approached. The wind sighed about the forest, slipping between the trees.

Then Gorgo, still fast asleep, tossed his head and snorted. Loudly.

“Ares’ slimy dick!” swore Cynisca under her breath. She began groping about on the forest floor for a fallen branch or rock.

Sotira was terrified. The handmaiden squeezed her eyes tight, desperately listening for any sounds of the intruders. All she could hear was the rustling of the wind and Gorgo’s snores. Frantic, the handmaiden knelt and prostrated herself. “ _Hear me, O Hera,_ ” she whispered, her voice trembling. “ _If you grant me the courage to-_ “

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Cynisca growled to Sotira. “Stay close to me. There’s five of them. We can take ‘em.”

“Here!” a man’s voice shouted, directly behind the two women.

Sotira felt hands press against her shoulderblades, and she was shoved hard to the ground.

And with that, Cynisca roared with fury, leaping to her feet and swinging her fists in the direction of their attacker. Her punch connected, and the man toppled backwards, yowling in pain.

Before Sotira knew what was happening, the battle was upon her. Men rushed in from all directions, yelling and grabbing. Strong arms seized the handmaiden, and pushed her down, restraining her in her kneeling position. She struggled, but was no match for the assailants.

Meanwhile, Cynisca was putting Captain Orestes’ training to good use. Her fists were quick and fierce, striking down her attackers with an unmatched rage. But she was badly outnumbered. After landing several solid kicks and punches, the princess was tackled and wrestled to the earth by a particularly tall fellow. She was forced onto her back, and her antagonist straddled her with both strong legs. He grabbed her left wrist and did his best to snatch the right one.

In desperation, the princess lashed out one last time with her right hand. She punched the assailant right in the neck, **_hard_**.

“Gah!” the man bellowed in pain. “Cynisca, stop it!”

The princess froze, then peered up in the darkness. “… ** _Agis?_** ” she exclaimed in disgust.

“Yes, yes, its me!” the haughty prince snarled. “By Pan’s butt, girl, that hurt!”

“Get off me!” roared Cynisca, wrenching both hands free and shoving Agis in the chest with all her might.

The fight was gone from Prince Agis. The young man tumbled onto the ground, gently holding his neck.

In an eyeblink, Cynisca had scrambled to her feet. She dropped into a fearsome crouch, a tigress ready for battle. Instinctively, all the other men stepped back.

“Guys, guys,” coughed Agis. He held up one hand. “Its fine. We’re not here to fight.”

*** *** ***

It was a short while before Cynisca and Sotira were able to relax in the company of Agis and his men. Under the prince’s orders, the fire was rebuilt, only bigger than before. Everyone sat around the blaze, with Sotira keeping close to her mistress.

“My manservant, Nabis here, spotted you ladies two riding north through the Lunnatae district,” Agis explained. “He told me about your escape, and of course, I wanted to know why King Cleomenes’ only daughter was fleeing the city. So I rounded up my best servants, and-”

“You didn’t tell my dad, did you?” Cynisca demanded, bristling.

“No, **_dummy_** ,” retorted Agis, as if insulted. “By Poseidon, I didn’t tell my own father.” He cocked his head to one side. “But as a Prince of Sparta, I have a responsibility to-“

“Oh, come off it, Aggy,” Cynisca huffed, deliberately using Agis’ baby nickname. “You, responsible? You couldn’t look after a potted flower.”

The prince’s face darkened. “Why are you out here, Cy?” he asked. “Adventures don’t suit you.”

“What ** _ever_** ,” sneered Cynisca, and crossed her arms.

An idea occurred to Sotira. “Perhaps you should tell him,” she coaxed her mistress, in a low voice, but loud enough for the men to hear.

“Tell me what?” pressed Agis.

Cynisca shot her handmaiden a horrible look. “You wouldn’t get it, Agis,” the princess muttered.

“Really?” said the prince. “Try me.”

With her eyes, Sotira coaxed, _Go on, tell him!_

“Fine,” Cynisca grunted, making a face. She unfolded her arms, picked up a small, dead branch, and absently poked the fire with a rueful expression.

“Soooo… you remember that old poet, the one from Sicyon?” she asked.

Agis searched his memory. “Oh, right. His name was… Kryontis… or something, right?”

“Kynortas,” the beautiful princess corrected. “He was at the Banquet for Dimeter.”

“And he was the guy who put a freezing-spell on you,” smirked Agis. “Knocked you on your pretty little ass, right in front of the whole _syssitia_.”

“It wasn’t a freezing-spell!” Cynisca retorted. “It was…” She paused, struggling with her vocabulary. “It was a new knowledge they have learned in Sicyon. Kynortas gave it a name… _hypnosis_.”

“Hypnosis,” repeated Agis. His expression was hard to read.

“I’m not exactly sure hypnosis it is,” confessed Cynisca, returning to poke the fire. “But however this new knowledge works, we Spartans have got to learn it.”

“Why?” Agis asked.

“Going to Sicyon will save Sparta. You saw what Kynortas did to me! Petrified me and then struck me down. Imagine if our army was to go into battle against even a hundred Sicyons who had that power.” Cynisca shivered. “We’d be slaughtered.”

“Ah,” murmured the prince.

There was a lull. Everyone stared into the fire, which crackled and popped with delight.

The warrior princess sighed. “The world used to fear Sparta. Why, three hundred Spartans once stood against all the armies of Persia, and **_our men_** brought Persia to its knees.” She shook her head. “But that was centuries past. Now you hear the travelers’ stories: Sparta has become weak and feeble. We’re divided, with no hope of settling our differences.” She scowled in disgust and tossed her branch into the fire.

Agis cocked his head to one side. “And you think this hypnosis will give Sparta an edge?”

“Maybe. Or at the least, we should know how to defend against it,” Cynisca replied.

Sotira couldn’t resist an exasperated snort. “But… you don’t even know what hypnosis is!” the beautiful handmaiden blurted out. “Let alone, how are you going to get it from the Sicyons? Why would they teach you?”

“Yeah,” agreed Nabis, one of Agis’ men. “This whole thing is-“

“ ** _Silence_** , Nabis!” snapped the prince.

The manservant swallowed, straightened, and closed his mouth.

“The Princess of Sparta is right,” Agis pronounced, gazing at Cynisca with something like admiration. “What is old Orestes always saying in his strategy lectures? _Always look for the means to disarm or blindside your opponent._ ” He nodded once, firmly. “If the Sicyons have something we can use to defend our people, then we are duty-bound to seize the opportunity.”

“Or before another kingdom hears of it, and beats us to the punch,” Cynisca added. She looked determined. “I’ve got to get to Sicyon immediately.”

Sotira wanted to put her head into her hands. Why was the princess so obsessed with this half-baked plan? The more Cynisca spoke, the more it was obvious that she hadn’t thought anything through. She would arrive in Sicyon, and what? Charm the Sicyon to freely hand over the precious secret of hypnosis? It was madness.

“I’ll go with you,” Agis informed Cynisca.

The eyes of everyone else popped. “My… prince?” Nabis spluttered.

“You heard the Princess of Sparta,” glared Agis. “This is important.”

“My prince,” Nabis said with alarm, “if you are not in _syssitia_ training tomorrow morning, you’ll be drummed out! Think of the dishonor!“

“Yes!” exclaimed Sotira. Rounding on Cynisca, she said, “That’s what I said!”

“Stupid fools!” Agis barked. “This is about the very future of our kingdom!”

“Yeah,” agreed Cynisca. She then scowled. “But… **_really_** … you don’t need to come, Agis.”

The princess and all of Agis’ men implored him to return to Sparta. “We can’t **_both_** be kicked out of Orestes’ squad,” Cynisca pointed out.

But Agis was even more stubborn than usual. “Go back to my father’s palace,” he ordered Nabis and his men. “Ride tonight, don’t stop until you get safely home. I’m riding on with Cynisca.”

Nabis nodded. “And we’ll alert your father when we get to the palace. “

Both Cynisca and Agis looked angered. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, Nabis,” Agis said firmly. “Think, man! What would happened if you told my father? He would run to Cleomenes, and then the Spartan army would march north. There’d be war, and the secret of hypnosis could be used against our men.”

“Or hypnosis might slip from our fingers,” added Cynisca.

“My lord,” Nabis said stiffly, “surely you aren’t proposing that you and the princess travel to Sicyon **_alone?_** ”

“We’ll be fine,” Agis assured his man. “The smaller our party, the less suspicious the Sicyons will be.” He looked at Cynisca. “Right?”

The princess looked wary. “I’m still not agreeing that you can come with us, doofus.”

“Oh, I’m going,” Agis said, even more firmly this time. “And you, Nabis, you’ll take the men home and swear that you’ll never speak of this! Upon your honor!”

“My prince,” implored Nabis, one last time, “…by Zeus, this is total bonkers.” He gestured in the air. “What if you’re killed, man? What, I’m supposed to remain silent forever?”

“Yes,” Agis said evenly. “Now, swear a vow of silence. Upon Hades!”

One-by-one, each of Agis’ men took the oath. Sotira watched, aghast. In Sparta, these vows were binding past death; if Nabis or any of his men let slip, they would be condemned in the afterlife to torture. Agis wasn’t fooling around.

“There,” the prince said, pleased. “Nabis, this’ll be fine. You’ll see. A week from now, Cynisca and I will return to Sparta in glory. And you’ll be released from your oath. No worries.”

“Yes, my prince,” Nabis replied, looking none-too-pleased.

“Alright, then,” commanded Agis. “Off with you guys. I’ll be fine.”

*** *** ***

The men servants lit torches, then road back south, returning to Sparta. By now, it was quite late, and the summer night was growing cold.

“We should turn in,” Agis said, as if he were in charge. “Big day tomorrow, eh?”

“Sure,” Cynisca returned, her voice sounding neutral.

Or was it? Sotira peered at her mistress. In the flickering firelight, she couldn’t read Cynisca’s expression.

“What?” the princess asked defensively. “You heard Aggy. We should get some sleep.”

*** *** ***

That night, Sotira was visited by an evil dream. The handmaiden found herself _standing atop one of the Taygetos Mountains, the cool wind blowing in her thick hair. To the east, she could look down and see Sparta, nestled upon the Laconian plane. The sun was setting behind the mountain, and as Sotira watched, Spartan torches sprang up throughout the city._

_The wind grew bitter and harsh. As Sotira squinted, she made out the figure of a young woman, dressed in white, approaching the outskirts of the city with her arms outstretched. Despite the enormous distance, the handmaiden knew: that remote young woman was the Princess Cynisca, returning home to embrace her people._

_But then, something changed. Cynisca’s expression went blank, as if she had lost all thought. The princess stopped, dropped her arms, then turned her back on the city._

_The skies grew black, and then, Sparta itself began to burn. The torch-fires grew larger and spread, and soon entire buildings were aflame._

_Horrified, the handmaiden reached for her mistress. She tried to cry out, but her throat was dry and parched. She was voiceless._

_“_ **Do you like what you see?** _” a woman’s cold voice said._

_Sotira turned, and was awestruck to see Athena herself, the goddess of all wisdom. The female deity stood tall and proud, beautiful beyond all compare, clad in a shimmering robe of pure white. Light seemed to stream from her body and clothes._

_“_ **Well, mortal?** _” Athena demanded. “_ **Do you like what you see?** _”_

_“It’s… It’s horrible!” cried Sotira in despair._

_“_ **Hear me well** _,” said Athena sternly. “_ **You are about to be tested as few mortals have, O Daughter of Sparta. Should you fail, then your kingdom will suffer this fate. And the Princess Cynisca herself will be the Instrument of all Destruction.** _”_

_And with that, everything in the dream burst into flames._

*** *** ***


	4. Arrival in Sicyon

“ _Wake up!_ ” the voice urged quietly.

Sotira moaned softly. With great difficulty, the beautiful handmaiden cracked opened one eye. Her entire body ached. She was huddled up in her traveling cloak, which was now coated in morning dew. Dim sunlight was painting the forest; the sun has just peaked over the eastern horizon. A thin, wet mist hovered over the earth.

The handmaiden tried to move, and immediately felt her own aches and bruises. She moaned again.

“Quiet!” Princess Cynisca hissed, clamping a hand over Sotira’s mouth. “Get up, but **_silently!_** We’ve got to go!”

Wincing and grumbling to herself, Sotira climbed off the forest floor. Sleeping on the hard ground did not agree with her; she felt as if a herd of oxen had trampled her.

“Hurry!” whispered Cynisca. The beautiful princess had already prepared the women’s two horses, and now she scurried about, gathering up the last of their provisions.

Sotira looked down. On the other side of the dead campfire, Prince Agis was sleeping like a log. The young man was lying on one side, his arms and legs thrust out at bizarre angles, a steady line of drool oozing from one corner of his mouth. He was snoring.

As silently as they could, Cynisca and Sotira mounted their steeds. Cynisca lifted her hunting spear.

Then, without warning, the princess used the staff of the spear to swat Agis’ horse in the rump. “ ** _Yah, yah!_** ” she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

Scared witless, the horse reared, whinnied, and bolted away into the forest.

“…eh?” mumbled Agis, looking up.

“Go, go!” Cynisca shouted at Sotira.

The two Spartan women kicked their heels, and their own horses galloped away. Within heartbeats, they had left the seething Prince Agis behind in their dust.

*** *** ***

“Agis will never forgive you, you know,” warned Sotira, perhaps thirty minutes later. “The prince is not one to-“

“Oh, stupid Aggy can stick his head up Hades’ poophole,” Cynisca said contemptuously. “Its certainly pointy enough. But I’m not letting that pompous jerk interfere with my mission.”

“Oh, princess…” sighed Sotira. More tension between two Ruling Houses was the last thing Sparta needed. She worriedly glanced over her shoulder. “Won’t he be eaten by wolves… or something…?”

“Please,” Cynisca scoffed. “Wolves would gag on his taste. No, Agis will have a long, humiliating walk home, which should take about all day on foot. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

Still, Sotira couldn’t resist another concerned look back the way they’d came.

“Forget him!” commanded Cynisca. “Ride on.”

*** *** ***

The day grew hot. Very hot. Unfortunately for the two young women, the forest thinned out, and soon their cover of shade was gone. The earth was reddish-orange and rocky here, with little inviting vegetation. The earlier breeze was gone.

“Save your water,” Cynisca advised when Sotira reached for her own wineskin.

But soon, both women were parched and suffering. They set aside their travel cloaks, and still perspiration rolled down their faces and backs. Their horses were coated in sweat and snorted with discontent. Gorgo was in a particularly bad mood.

“Hey,” said Sotira suddenly, pointing a finger toward the forward horizon. “Is that…?”

Cynisca squinted. “A lake!” she exclaimed.

Indeed, a small lake lay ahead. Encouraged, both women rode on.

*** *** ***

The lake was unclaimed by any farmer or village, and so Cynisca and Sotira made themselves right at home. They let the horses drink their fill of cool water, then tied the beasts up under the shade of a towering olive tree. Right away, Gorgo grunted in contentment.

“Couldn’t we swim?” Sotira asked her mistress. “Just for a bit. The sun’s directly above us, and it will be beastly hot for at least another hour. At least. Plus, the horses could use the rest.”

“Well…” frowned Cynisca. “’Tir, we really need to-“

“See that island?” Sotira said, indicating a small lump of grassy land, right in the center of the lake. “I can **_so_** beat you there!” She hurriedly untied her sandals and began peeling out of her plain tunic.

“Hey!” the princess retorted. “Hey, I-“

“Looooser!” sang Sotira. Now naked, she sprinted into the cool water.

Competition always brought out the best and worst in Cynisca. Letting out a defiant cry, she leapt out of her own clothes and raced into the pond. In seconds, she was diving, then swimming with gusto.

The race was fierce. Sotira was a skilled swimmer, but the princess was stronger and faster. Both tore up the water, causing fish and ducks to flee in all directions.

“Gotcha…!” gasped Sotira, hurriedly pulling herself onto the tiny island. “I… win…!”

“You cheated, bitch!” Cynisca accused, but in a playful way. “Besides, this is a race to the island **_and back._** ”

Sotira’s eyes budged. “And back? Princess, that’s so not fair!” She made a show of heaving for breath.

“And why not?” Cynisca laughed. “You can talk tough, girl, but ya can’t-“

“Later!” Sotira shouted, already racing back into the water. She’d been faking exhaustion the whole time.

Grinning, the princess gave chase.

*** *** ***

After several competitions, the princess and her handmaiden decided to sun themselves on the little island. The exercise has done them good, but they needed a few moments to recharge. Besides, the hot sunbeams felt wonderful on their nude bodies.

The two beautiful women closed their eyes, enjoying the moment. High above, eagles called. They could hear the water gently lap the shore.

Sotira rolled onto her belly, exposing her shoulderblades and backside to the sun. She regarded the princess, but said nothing.

“What?” Cynisca drawled, sensing her handmaiden’s gaze.

The handmaiden looked at her hands. “I had a dream last night, Cy,” she murmured.

Cynisca sat up and stared at her companion. Never, in all their years together, had Sotira used the princess’ informal nickname.

The lovely handmaiden wrinkled her brow. “Athena warned me that we’re walking on a path of doom,” she said. Her voice strengthened. “I **_really_** think we shouldn’t be going to Sicyon. Something evil waits for us there.”

“Going to Sicyon will save Sparta,” the princess responded automatically.

“You keep saying that,” said Sotira in exasperation. “Can’t you hear yourself? Seriously, why do you believe this?”

Cynisca opened her mouth, but hesitated. Confusion rippled over her beautiful face.

“I…” she stammered. “I just…”

“Oh, laaaaaaa ** _dies!_** ” a man’s voice from far across the water yelled.

Sotira yelped, scrambling into a crouched position. She threw her arms about her nakedness, then tried to become as small as possible.

But Cynisca didn’t flinch. “Gaia’s pussy…!” she swore, balling her hands up into fists.

There, across the water, and standing beside the women’s horses plus his own, was Prince Agis. He held up Cynisca’s and Sotira’s clothes in one taunting hand.

“We should talk!” Agis hollered across the water.

“Uggggggggh…!” spat Cynisca. “Come on, ‘Tir.”

Poor Sotira was shaking and blushing. “But… but he’ll see my…”

“He’s already seen!” cried the princess with disgust. “C’mon, I can’t take this lughead on my own.”

*** *** ***

“Here’s how it’s gonna be,” Agis said firmly, still gripping the women’s clothes. “I’m coming **_with you_** , all the way to Sicyon. No buts.”

“You Minotaur dung!” shrieked Cynisca, nearly beside herself.

The three Spartans all faced one another on the shores of the lake. Prince Agis was holding both the women’s clothes, and he gripped the reigns of all the horses in his other hand. A smug grin hung on Agis’ lean face. Cynisca and Sotira, still completely naked, stood before him. Sotira held one arm over her breasts, the other over her crotch, and she couldn’t bring herself look the prince in the eye. But Cynisca was red-faced and furious.

“Tut-tut, princess,” scoffed Agis. “Ya thought you’d be rid of me so easily? Heh. Shows what you know. The horses in my father’s stable come back when they are called.”

“Now,” the prince said grandly, “are you going to promise **_upon your honor_** that I am coming with you? Or do I ride back to Sparta with all that I found here… and you two can walk to Sicyon in your birthday suits?”

“Filthy swine!” raged Cynisca. “Medusa spawn!”

“Oh, Cyyyyyyyy!” wailed Sotira. “Just let him have what he wants, will you?”

The Princess of Sparta grit her teeth. “Aggy, why do you want to come so fucking badly?”

Agis’ eyes narrowed. “I have my reasons.”

“See?” Cynisca almost shouted at Sotira. “He wants to betray us! I knew it!”

But something snapped inside the beautiful handmaiden. “ ** _Are you insane?_** ” she hollered back. “You and Aggy have known each other **_literally_** since the cradle! He’s not gonna betray you!”

Cynisca hesitated, taken aback.

“Just… let him come along? Please?” Sotira asked miserably.

“Here,” said Agis, and without any gloating, he handed over the women’s tunics. “I **_really_** think I should accompany you guys,” he said plainly.

Deeply suspicious, the two young ladies snatched their garments and hurriedly got dressed. As they did, Agis stepped back, clearly no longer willing to fight. “You could use me in a strange kingdom, Cy,” he implored. “And perhaps three heads are better than two?”

Cynisca pulled her tunic over her curvy chest, her glare shooting back and forth between Agis and Sotira.

“Traveling with a man couldn’t hurt,” Sotira grumbled. She was trying to tie back her hair, which was still filled with lake-water.

Something melted within the princess. “Fine,” she grunted. “Fine.”

But before Agis could grin, she stabbed a finger at him. “But I swear, Agis, if you screw us, I will gut you, leave your foul-smelling corpse for the crows, and then tell our dads that you were killed by highwaymen. You get me?”

“I get it,” Agis agreed.

*** *** ***

The road continued over jagged hills and patches of strange forest. The three Spartans rode in relative silence, mostly because Cynisca refused to acknowledge Agis. The prince seemed not to notice her dark mood and he rode on with a passive expression. Whatever thoughts were rattling around in his head, he kept to himself.

The weather remained oppressively hot, at least until the early evening. “There’s clouds rolling in,” Sotira observed, pointing east. Worriedly, she asked, “You guys think that means rain?”

“Naw,” Agis opined. “Cooler breezes are coming, though.”

“Let’s hope that’s an omen,” Sotira frowned, wiping the sweat from her brow.

*** *** ***

The companions rode until sundown, then camped in the forest. Cynisca, quick with her spear, slew a wild boar, and the three Spartans dined on the surprise delight of roasted pig. They went to sleep with full bellies and contented dreams.

In the morning, they resumed their journey, wishing to lose little time. Now the road markers were appearing more frequently, and the travelers began to see little villages or even a monastery off the road. Farmers guiding oxen-pulled carts occasionally challenged them for space on the road.

“We’re near a city,” observed Agis.

“So let’s get there,” Cynisca said, eager.

*** *** ***

The forest returned as the travelers continued north. Sotira noticed that the locals liked to build farmhouses or shrines atop the hills. On the crest of one hill, there was a fence with strange scarecrows mounted on the posts, all facing outward.

“Is that… art?” Agis wondered, craning his neck upward to study the scarecrows.

“No,” replied Cynisca. “That’s just creepy.”

And then, three Spartans rode over one more hill, and suddenly, perhaps a full league in the distance, they beheld a cluster of mud houses and stone buildings, all looped inside a modest protective wall. Outside the wall, the land was cultivated into farms, with wheatfields and apple orchards rolling across the hills. A small village squatted directly before this city.

Agis pointed to a roadside marker. “Sicyon,” he read aloud. “City of Artists.”

“ ** _That’s_** Sicyon?” exclaimed Cynisca. The princess sounded disappointed. “That little town? The whole thing could fit into Sparta’s forum!”

Sicyon was built upon a flat plane. In the center, there was a modest palace built from white marble, flying faded blue flags from the ramparts. Beside the palace was a Doric Temple, also constructed from white stone, and a modest amphitheater was also squeezed into the center of town. Beyond the palace, temple, and theatre, Sicyon appeared to be rows and rows of mud-brick houses with thatched roofs. Sotira thought the city had little character whatsoever.

“They don’t even have an aqueduct!” Cynisca said in obvious disappointment. “How can they claim to be a city when they don’t have running water?”

“Who cares?” shrugged Agis. “We’re not here for the plumbing. Remember the mission.”

“Right, right,” the princess nodded. She clicked her heels, and Gorgo trotted forward.

*** *** ***

As they neared Sicyon’s city gates, where a small village stood. The three travelers could see that the actual entrance to the city was guarded by two soldiers, both rather old and flabby by Spartan standards. Cynisca, Sotira, and Agis watched as the men stopped a farmer and his cart before he entered the city.

Agis scowled. “They’re interrogating strangers.”

“So what?” huffed Cynisca. “I’m a Princess of Sparta. They’ll welcome me, escort me to the palace, and then treat me to their finest of everything.”

Sotira felt exasperated. Once more, Cynisca wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Wait, princess, wait!” she implored, and almost shouted in frustration. “What do you know of the Sicyons? Nothing! What if they decide to arrest you and take you hostage?”

“Those two gasbags?” Cynisca scoffed, gesturing at the guards. “I’d break them across my knee.”

“But why risk them raising an alarm?” Sotira fired back. “There could be twenty more guards just inside the walls.”

The princess and prince paused, considering Sotira’s words.

“What are you proposing, handmaiden?” Agis wanted to know.

Sotira sighed. “We have no idea what we’ll find inside those city walls, right? So what if – I don’t know – we pretend to be peasants and just look around? Ask some local shopkeepers about the king and queen, see if they know about this ‘hypnosis.’ Learn a bit about Sicyon before you announce yourself. Right?”

“Act like **_peasants?_** ” echoed Agis, his face hardening. “I’ve never-“

“No,” Cynisca interjected. “No, she’s right. It couldn’t hurt to take a covert look around at Sicyon, right?” When Agis didn’t immediately agree, she prodded, “ ** _Right?_** ”

“Fine,” Agis allowed.

Cynisca turned to her handmaiden. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well…” Sotira looked over her two companions, thinking quickly. “We just need a cover story that doesn’t make the guards suspicious. I dunno… maybe you guys can pretend to be husband and wife? And I’m Cynisca’s sister?”

Both Cynisca and Agis recoiled. “ ** _Married?_** ” spluttered the beautiful princess, looking ill.

“Can you think of anything better?” Sotira wanted to know.

Cynisca and Agis exchanged a loathing glance.

*** *** ***

The Sicyon Gate Soldiers looked up as the three strangers approached. The trio rode side-by-side-by-side, regarding the guards with wary eyes. They were two absolutely stunning women as beautiful as the day, plus one young man.

“Halt there,” Haritas the senior guard ordered, holding up one hand. With nervousness, he eyed the strangers’ lean bodies, hardened muscles, and powerful horses. The man and beautiful woman in the middle both had swords; the woman was also holding a hunting spear.

The three riders stopped just before the open gate. They stared back at Haritas with a calm detachment. The guard sucked in his gut and hoped that his armor made him look intimidating.

“So, ah… what brings you to Sicyon?” Haritas demanded. “The Dionysia Festival ain’t until next month, you know.”

“We need lodging,” the beauty without a sword supplied. “I am Aretaphila, and this is my sister Elephantis, and her husband Echestratus. We’re traveling up to Delphi, to… er, visit my uncle, Pleistoanax.”

“Uh-huh,” Haritas allowed, feeling suspicious. “Delphi? That’s a long way off.”

“So we need an inn,” argued the lovely woman holding the spear. She spoke rather stiffly. “My husband and I are so tired and need rest.”

Something wasn’t right. Haritas shifted on his feet, wondering if he should sound the alarm bell. “You two,” he said incredulously, “are married?”

“Yes, yes we are,” the spear-woman assured him. “We, ah, love one another very much.” As if to prove her statement, she reached over, grabbed the man’s hand, and held it very awkwardly. Both husband and wife managed stained smiles. “Right, sweetest?”

“Yeah,” the man replied. There was absolutely no passion in his voice.

Lelex, the second guard stepped forward. “Alright, you folks can go,” he said, looking bored. “You can’t use those weapons in the city, though. Have a good stay.”

“Thank you,” said the beautiful woman in a clipped voice. The three strangers rode through the gates, rapidly disappearing into the city.

“What?” Lelex asked when Haritas scowled at him.

“You thought that **_those two_** looked like a happily married couple?” frowned Haritas.

“Well, yeah,” yawned Lelex. “That’s more love than I get from my wife, I’ll tell ya.”

Haritas rolled his eyes.

*** *** ***

To her surprise, Sotira liked Sicyon. The streets were narrow and paved with dirt, and the houses packed tightly together. But there were brightly-colored mosaics on many buildings, and plenty of bronze and marble statues tucked into a garden here or on a pedestal there. The shops featured clothes and fruits of every color imaginable, and it was common to see a street musician playing a lyre or reed pipe. There were people everywhere, and dirty children jumped up and down to wave at the Spartan trio. Sotira couldn’t help waving back.

Then the street opened up into an enormous plaza and marketplace, paved in stone, and with a large blue fountain in the center. Across the open space was the Sicyon royal palace, which was actually quite impressive. Carefully-chiseled columns rose up along the outside, save for two enormous wooden doors that were ornately carved. A light blue banner hung from many windows.

In the shadow of the castle, carpenters were laboring away. To the western end of the plaza, one group of laborers were hammering together what appeared to be a large theatre stage. Opposite them, a second group was building a grand reviewing platform; already, there were two thrones placed there, facing the stage. And before the palace, a long banquet table was set up. Already, more workers were carefully loading enormous wine-barrels onto the table.

“They’re going to have a party,” Sotira exclaimed, looking about.

Cynisca wrinkled her nose. In Sparta, festivals were held only on the rarest of occasions, such as victory in a war or the birth of a royal child.

“You folks are from out-of-town?” a man in a well-crafted tunic exclaimed. “Well then, praise Zeus! Welcome to Sicyon. You’re early for the Dionysia festival, though.”

Sotira looked down upon the man. He was tall, with a pointed beard and a broad face. His tunic bore the Crest of the Sicyon Palace, which almost certainly meant he was a royal servant.

“You folks… are here for the festival?” the man asked hopefully.

Cynisca shook her head. “Just passing through.”

“Ah,” the man said, disappointed. “I keep hoping that word of the festival spreads. It would be a wonderful thing for us if travelers came all across Greece to celebrate Dionysia here. Who are you, strangers?”

Sotira introduced the Spartan threesome, reasonably certain that she remembered everyone’s fictional names.

“Ah. Well, I’m Nicander, Chief Servant to our good King Machanidas,” the man replied. “You folks look thirsty. Can I offer you a public drink?”

Now that Sotira looked, she saw that one of the wine-barrels had been opened. Citizens were gathering about, and a large man with a thick beard and a broad smile was filling goblets.

“Here, you’re just in time for the public tasting,” Nicander smiled. “Come, in Dionysus’ name, this is free for all!” He gestured invitingly towards the barrel.

The three Spartans exchanged surprised glances. “I… guess we could,” Agis ventured.

Sotira swallowed. Her throat **_was_** dry.

The prince slid off his horse and walked to the barrel. Immediately, the big man handed him a full goblet. Agis sipped.

“Its good,” he told Cynisca and Sotira. “Sweet, and with a good flavor.”

“If it pleases you, ladies,” Nicander offered, “I can put your horses in the public stables. They’ll be well-cared for.”

Sotira looked at Cynisca hopefully. The Sicyons were a friendly bunch, eager to please. The princess’ earlier suspicion seemed silly now. Gorgo snorted, as if he agreed.

Cynisca sighed. “Alright,” she allowed, and hopped off the black warhorse. Sotira dismounted, too. After a little quick conversation, the two women permitted their horses to be led away by Nicander. The palace servant even took the hunting spear, as the weapon was attracting too much attention.

Agis appeared, pressing filled goblets into Cynisca’s and Sotira’s hands. Both women sniffed, then tasted the wine. As the prince had said, the drink was well-flavored. Sotira licked her lips.

“So according to that fellow,” Agis murmured, indicating the wine-server, “the king and queen here sponsor the Festival of Dionysus every summer. Wine is free for the attending.”

“Free? There must be a line at the city gates when they start this party,” Sotira remarked, then drank again.

Cynisca was about to reply, when an old street-seller approached, displaying colorful dresses on both her wrinkled arms. “My ladies,” she beamed to Cynisca and Sotira. “Would you beautiful girls care for a new garment?”

“Oh man,” Sotira exclaimed before she could help herself, “these are gorgeous!”

Cynisca replied, “’Tir, we aren’t here to- _Ohhhhh!_ This one is beautiful! Is this silk?” She longingly caressed a blue dress.

The old woman smiled.

*** *** ***

Perhaps it was the wine going to their heads, but Cynisca and Sotira decided to browse the marketplace. They refilled their goblets, then wandered from shopfront to shopfront, staring at all the wares for sale. Sotira had a hard time tearing herself away from the fine jewelry, even though as a handmaiden, she could never hope to wear ornaments. The afternoon passed slowly.

“Apples, young ladies?” a hopeful merchant asked. “Fresh, from Hippocratidas’ seaside orchard!” He grinned, displaying his crooked teeth. “Sweetest apples in all of Greece!”

“Maybe you could buy a house here,” Sotira teased Cynisca, when she caught the princess fawning over a small statue of a deer. “Living in Sicyon would be cheaper than at home, don’t you think?”

“Eh,” Cynisca mused. “Its pretty here, but I’d miss…” Her voice trailed off. “Hey, where’s Agis?”

Sotira looked about. She and Cynisca were standing amid the marketplace crowd; the prince was no-where to be seen.

“I thought…” the handmaiden said. “He was just right here!”

The crowd parted, and Sicyon soldiers approached, wearing armor and with their swords drawn. There were perhaps six men, each young and strong. They bore down on the two Spartan women with considerable speed.

“Oh, spit!” growled Cynisca. She dropped her goblet and reached for her sword.

Immediately, the soldiers pounced. Cynisca didn’t have time to draw her weapon. Pedestrians screamed as the men and the Spartan women tussled and thrashed about. The princess of Sparta gave a bloodcurdling war cry.

Then Sotira was struck in the jaw, and flung to the ground. Strong hands seized her, pinning her arms behind her back. She struggled, but to no avail. She felt course ropes, binding her wrists.

“Get up!” snarled one of the troops.

The handmaiden was hauled to her feet, her vision still spinning. Across from her, Cynisca was limp on the ground, knocked unconscious by one of the brutes. The other soldiers were quickly removing her sword from her belt.

“Well done,” a man’s smooth voice said.

The soldiers stepped aside, and Nicander the Palace Servant glided forward, looking pleased. Following him, with a blank expression, was Prince Agis.

“Agis!” Sotira shrieked, furious. “You betraying scum!”

The Spartan prince did not respond; it was as if he couldn’t hear Sotira’s cries.

“Quiet, you,” Nicander warned. The servant’s earlier smile was gone. To the soldiers, he barked, “Bring Princess Cynisca and her maid-servant into the palace. The king and queen are expecting them.”

*** *** ***


	5. Queen Bithynia’s Revenge

Sicyon Palace was even more lavish on the inside than it was on the outside. The interior chambers were built from polished marble, with classical mosaics and tapestries everywhere that one looked. The palace servants saw to it that fresh-cut daffodils were displayed in every room, and so the castle smelled sweet and inviting. A minstrel could be faintly heard, strumming his lyre and singing.

But Sotira had no time to appreciate any of this splendor. Two solders gripped her by the arms, and firmly marched her through a sequence of corridors and chambers. Soon, the Spartan handmaiden had lost all sense of direction. 

Then, she was propelled through one last double doorway, and flung onto a smooth stone floor. This room was a sitting-parlor, one suitable for a king. There were several comfortable reclining couches placed around a firepit of carved rock. A cheerful flame was dancing within. The firepit was positioned under a chimney-funnel, which extended from the ceiling. A serving table was next to the fire. The walls of the room were completely covered with a vast mural that depicted lean Greek soldiers overrunning a terrified city. A depiction of the sacking of Troy, perhaps. The room had no windows.

Another guard, a truly huge, hulking fellow, stepped into the room, carrying the unconscious Princess Cynisca in his arms. Three more soldiers followed, and finally Nicander, the palace servant. Immediately, all the guards looked to him for instruction.

“Put the princess there,” ordered Nicander, pointing to a couch. “Then send for refreshments and wine. Go!”

A guard knelt to cut the ropes binding Sotira’s wrists. At the same time, the huge man slung Cynisca onto the couch, pausing only briefly to admire his captive’s body.

“Brute!” snapped Sotira, flying to her mistress’ side. The princess had a bruise and a small trickle of blood down the side of her temple.

As the soldiers withdrew, Nicander actually offered an oily smile. “His and Her Majesties will be with you shortly,” he said pleasantly.

“Swine!” Sotira shot back.

The servant shrugged, then departed. The double doors shut, plunging the sitting room into firelight and near-darkness.

Cynisca groaned, rolling onto her back.

“Hey… easy there, easy there,” fussed Sotira. “Take it slow.”

The princess’ eyes flew open. They burned with a furious rage. “Where’s Agis?” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sotira said.

The doors opened again, and both women tensed. Two soldiers entered, but stepped to either side of the doorway.

Then a small slave girl appeared. She bore a silver tray, which held a bowl of olives, a wine jug, two wooden goblets, and two handcloths. The slave froze when she saw the Spartans.

“For you, my ladies…” the girl said meekly.

Under Sotira’s glare, the slave set the tray down on the serving table, then scampered away. The soldiers retreated with her, and then the doors were shut again.

Wincing slightly, Cynisca forced herself to sit up. She sized up their surroundings in a glance. “We’re in the royal palace,” she surmised.

“Apparently, we’re about to receive a visit from the king and queen,” Sotira informed her mistress, quickly pouring wine into a goblet. “Here, sit still.”

The handmaiden took a handcloth, dabbed it in the wine, then tenderly cleaned off Cynisca’s blood. “You got clocked pretty bad,” she said mournfully.

Cynisca scowled. “Oh, if I see that traitor Agis again…!”

Resentfully, the princess grabbed the goblet and chugged a mighty gulp.

“Hey, hey, careful there,” said Sotira, alarmed. “Getting drunk isn’t going to help.”

“Ah, we’re already pretty buzzed,” Cynisca said grimly. “I’m so sorry, ‘Tir. We’re **_so fucked_**. Think they’ll rape us and kill us? Or do it in the reverse order?”

Sotira looked ill.

“Here,” Cynisca offered, holding out the goblet. The handmaiden snatched the cup and drained it in one gulp.

The doors opened again, and this time a tall man and woman entered, both smiling cruelly. From their clothes and baring, they could only be Sicyon’s king and queen. Cynisca’s eyes narrowed into hateful slits.

The king chuckled as he gazed down upon his two beautiful prisoners. “Praise be to Tyche,” he said proudly to his wife. “I told you the plan would work.”

“So far,” his wife cautioned.

The king was a tall man, perhaps in his mid-thirties. His dark brown hair was thinning, but the thick, pointed beard on his jaw seemed to make up for the loss. His eyes were small and piercing, and they flickered over Cynisca and Sotira as his broad smile widened. The man wore a royal tunic of light blue, which covered him from shoulders to toes. His arms seemed thin but his belly was swollen; apparently, the king loathed exercise.

His wife was thin, almost so thin that she seemed in danger of slipping out of her dark red dress at any moment. Perhaps five years younger than her husband, she was not an attractive woman, in that her face was gaunt and sullen, and her dark eyes glared fiercely from above her hawklike nose. The queen had thin lips, as if she had spent her life perfecting her disapproving scowl.

Sotira hated both of Sicyon’s monarchs instantly.

The king sat across the firepit from the two Spartan women, openly admiring their figures. “We must observe the social niceties before business,” he said grandly. “Ladies, I am King Machanidas, ruler of Sicyon. This is She Who is My Wife, the Queen Bithynia. And welcome to our most noble house, Princess of Sparta.”

The queen flashed a brief smile, but there was no warmth in her expression. She assumed a seat on the couch next to her husband.

“You ridiculous cock,” Cynisca snarled, her eyes flashing. “Filthy worm! You **_dare_** hold a Daughter of Sparta captive? My countrymen have destroyed other kingdoms for less.”

“She has fire,” Queen Bithynia coldly remarked to her husband. “Hera herself would have trouble taming this one.”

“Oh, she’ll be docile soon enough,” promised her husband. He clapped his hands loudly, twice.

The doors opened again, and now two men entered. The first man was Kynortas! Sotira shuddered at the sight of the lecherous poet. A smug expression on his face, the tall man wore an expensive tunic, although he still leaned on his walking stick as he strolled. A large bundle wrapped in parchment was in in his other arm. Now that she could see Kynortas and King Machanidas together, Sotira realized: the two men could only be brothers. Save for the difference in years, they looked almost identical.

Behind the sinister poet was Prince Agis. The young man’s expression was vacant, as if he were walking in his sleep.

“My king,” Kynortas said to Sicyon’s monarch, and bowed his head slightly.

At the sight of Agis, Cynisca leapt to her feet, her hands clenched into tight fists.

“Relax, princess,” King Machanidas laughed. “Your Spartan friend is completely under our control. He was under a hypnotic compulsion to guide you here, you know. And he obeyed us without the slightest notion of what he was doing!” The king smiled in triumph. “When he wakes, won’t he be in for a shock, eh?”

“Sit down, princess,” Queen Bithynia said firmly. “We have much to discuss.”

Cynisca glared at Agis, then the king and queen. But she sat back on the couch, next to Sotira. “We have nothing to discuss,” she insisted.

Kynortas and the king chuckled. But the queen’s expression soured.

“Begin,” she ordered the poet.

Nodding, Kynortas hobbled to the firepit and chucked his bundle directly on top of the little flame. Instantly, the parchment burned away, revealing a large amount of dried, white sticks inside, tied together. The twigs began burning.

“You and your servant came all the way here from Sparta, princess?” he said conversationally. “That’s quite a journey. Tell me, why did you embark on this quest?”

“Going to Sicyon will save Sparta,” Cynisca responded automatically.

“Its good that you believe that,” smiled Kynortas. “But I think you’re about to find: the opposite will be true.”

By now, the white twigs were burning merrily, and a thick, white plumb of smoke was rising from the firepit. Most of the smoke drifted into the chimney-funnel, but wandering tendrils floated along the ceiling. Sotira began to feel light-headed. The room smelled of cumin and pine.

“You won’t remember, princess,” Kynortas said lazily, “but you and I have already discussed this. The smoke is magic. If you have wine in your belly, it causes you to relax, to let go, to let your mind wander. You are feeling this now, is that not so?”

“I…” Cynisca said.

“Do not speak!” interrupted Kynortas. “Only relax. Relax. Relax even more. As you breathe, the magic in the smoke seeps into your mind and grows more powerful. And why fight this magic? You feel calm. Peaceful. Content. All that exists is your relaxing body, your still thoughts, and the sound of my voice. You want to relax and listen. You want to follow and obey. Relax. Follow and obey. Good…!”

Strangely, Cynisca did not respond. Sotira could feel her mistress’s body sitting beside her, completely motionless. The Spartan handmaiden wanted to look at Cynisca… but her neck did not want to turn. Her own body felt heavy, lethargic.

“You are relaxing even more,” continued Kynortas, “allowing every muscle in your body to relax deeper, deeper, even deeper still. Let it all go. The magic penetrates you. You feel so calm, ladies, so wonderful. Do not resist this feeling. Breathe deeply, and feel your body and mind descend even further into wonderful stillness. Relax…”

Sotira found that she was breathing deeply and slowly. Her earlier fear and anger had oddly vanished. Now it was difficult to think. Her arms and legs felt as if they were turned to wax and were slowly melting from her body. Strangely, it was a very pleasant sensation.

The poet spoke on, his voice soothing and seductive. Sotira gradually lost awareness of where she was. It seemed as if the world was a haze, and she was mere floating along in the river of Kynortas’ words. How much time had passed? She hadn’t the slightest concern.

“You have not a care in the world,” the hypnotist instructed, “you merely want to relax deeper, and respond to my voice and my voice alone. I command you now.

“In a moment, I will give you some simple phrases to speak aloud. The instant I tell them to you, you will say them, clearly and without resistance. And the moment these words leave your lips, they will become absolutely truth to you within your mind. You will say them, and then you will believe them, completely and without any hesitation.”

The poet paused. “Are you ready? Repeat this: You are under my spell.”

On their own, Sotira’s lips obediently said, “I am under your spell.” Cynisca mechanically repeated the same phrase, almost in perfect unison.

Sounding pleased, Kynortas said, “I am your master.”

“You are my master,” the Spartan woman echoed.

“You must obey my every command.”

“I must obey your every command.”

Within Sotira’s mind, a new reality took hold. _I am under his spell,_ she thought to herself. _He is my master. I must obey his every command._

“Very good, you will stop repeating me. Because now, ladies, your eyes are so heavy, so very heavy, you cannot keep them open. As I count from ten to one, they grow impossibly heavy, and although you will struggle, you cannot keep them open. They will close, and you will surrender into a deep, powerful hypnotic sleep. You cannot resist. Ten…”

And immediately, Sotira found that her eyelids were fluttering. Mildly alarmed, the handmaiden fought to keep them open, but it was no use. Her will was too weak.

Sotira’s eyes shut, and ignored her desire to open again. Immediately, the handmaiden felt her whole body collapse into a sweet restfulness. She wanted nothing but to give herself to this delightful feeling.

Beside her, Sotira was aware of Cynisca, now slumping against her. The princess had also succumbed.

And then, Kynortas’ hands were upon the two women, rearranging them as he spoke on. Sotira was laid across Cynisca’s lap, and then the princess’s limp torso was draped over Sotira. All the while, Kynortas continued his stream of instructions, telling the two Spartans that they no longer had any will of their own, that he was their master, and they would happily follow and obey any compulsion that he placed in their heads.

Neither woman could resist his commands.

*** *** ***

“There,” Kynortas pronounced. “They’re hypnotized. Their minds are enslaved to us, now.”

Sotira was still flopped over on Cynisca’s lap, completely motionless. Somehow, she was deeply asleep, and yet entirely aware of everything that was happening in the room. She listened to Kynortas speaking, fascinated, and yet completely unconcerned about anything in the world.

“Yes, yes, Kynortas, well done,” Queen Bithynia said, her tone dry. “You’ve plucked Sparta’s finest. But tell me,” she added sourly, “we only sent you to Sparta to entrance their princess. Why entrance the prince as well?”

Kynortas audibly swallowed. “I, ah, saw the opportunity, my queen,” he replied. “The prince was easily lured away from his people at a banquet. Once I was alone with him, it was simple to ply him with drink and then the sleeping-herb, smoked in my pipe. The prince was hypnotized quickly.”

“But we don’t need Prince Agis,” Bithynia said, an edge in her voice. “And luring away **_both_** Sparta’s princess and prince might be tempting the Fates a little too much, no?”

“You are right, my queen,” the poet murmured. “I… ah, I…”

“Oh, come now, my love,” King Machanidas. “Kynortas here was taking an advantage of fortuitous opportunity! Why-“

“Do not mock me,” hissed the queen, and Sotira could hear that the woman had stood up. “You ridiculous man, can’t you think more than one step ahead?”

“My love, I didn’t mean-” Machanidas said quickly.

But Bithynia would have none of her husband’s groveling. “Mach, you forget the very history that surrounds you, painted on these very walls!”

The queen’s voice lowered to a growl. “You may disregard Sicyon’s past,” she muttered, “but I still remember that night, long ago. When the Spartan soldiers came. They battered down our city doors, and ransacked Sicyon, pillaging us as if we were their sheep! I was just five years old, and I remember my mother clutching me in terror, certain that our whole family was about to be slaughtered.

“And after the Spartans left, I vowed that I would find a way to subjugate them, no matter if it took my lifetime. When you and I were wed, and you assumed my father’s throne, I hoped that the gods had elevated you because Ares would bless you with a way to militarily subdue Sparta. What a fool I was! Look at you, fat and uninterested in anything except your next cup of wine. And the pleasure of your cock. I knew if I was to have revenge on Sparta, Mach, I would have to take matters into my own hands.”

“What did you do?” King Machanidas asked fearfully.

Bithynia snorted. “What had to be done. Why do you think the gods gave the power of hypnosis to your idiot brother? You think that was by luck? Heh! No, one year ago, I made a pact with Hades himself. ‘ _Give me a way to bring Sparta under my heel,_ ’ I prayed to the Death-God, ‘ _and I will offer you a thousand Spartan virgins as sacrifice._ ’

“And look what happened! Within the week, Kynortas was visited by Hypnos, and we were guided to the crop of sleeping-weed.” Bithynia sounded proud. “Obviously, Hades accepted my offer.”

“The sleeping-weed only grows atop that one small hill,” Machanidas pointed out. “We have enough to hypnotize a few people. Not all of Sparta.”

“But we are patient, my love,” retorted Bithynia. “We subdue Sparta, even if it takes twenty years.”

The queen moved to stand before the sleeping Cynisca and Sotira. “Which brings us to the princess here,” she said dryly. “You’re certain she can give you a boy, Mach?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” the king assured.

Sounding disgusted, Bithynia said, “Oh, I know you’ve gotten in plenty of practice knocking up slave women and farm maidens, my love. But our plan will wither, should you bed Princess Cynisca and she gives birth to a girl. The Spartans will never accept a girl as their next heir. But a boy… well, that seals fate, doesn’t it?”

“What are you planning, my queen?” Kynortas asked.

Bithynia didn’t answer right away. “Tell me, poet,” she said instead, “when you hypnotize a person once, twice, three, times, the commands you place in their minds eventually wear off?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Hmm.” Sotira felt Bithynia run a caressing hand over Cynisca’s body. “But after you **_repeatedly_** hypnotize them with the sleeping-weed, a person loses their free will forever?”

“Eventually, the weed permanently leaves its victims in a mindless, obedient state,” confirmed Kynortas. “My queen, you’ll recall Athenais, the temple priestess? She was my first subject. Nowadays, the poor girl is little more than brainless. Even without the weed, she can’t resist anything I tell her to do.”

Machanidas and Kynortas chortled wickedly.

“And how many times did you have to hypnotize Athenais before that happened?” Bithynia snapped, unamused.

Both men stopped laughing. “Er, over a few months, my queen,” Kynortas replied quickly.

“Well,” growled Bithynia, “you’ll be hypnotizing Princess Cynisca day and night. I want this girl’s mind turned into pulp. She must never have another independent thought again. She must obey us without thinking.

“Once our healers confirm that the princess is carrying Machanidas’ son, we will tell the world that I have died,” Bithynia continued. ”I’ll hide as a priestess to Athena, but I’ll stay close, my love, very close. Then, you will announce that you have taken Cynisca of Sparta as your new, willing bride. With her under our complete control, the Spartans will have no choice but to accept the marriage. Then…” And now the queen’s tone was openly gloating. “…we’ll see to it that Cynisca’s child is the heir to the Spartan throne.

“In ten years’ time, we’ll arrange for King Cleomenes to be poisoned. And King Archidamus killed in a hunting accident, perhaps. Once Sparta’s two monarchs are dead, our son will be named king. Sparta will be ours. Our family will finally be avenged.”

There was a silence as Bithynia reveled in her plot. Sotira heard the queen rustle her hand through Cynisca’s thick hair.

Normally, the Spartan handmaiden would have been absolutely horrified to learn of a scheme to enslave her mistress and then her city. But the curious spell that bewitched her made it so that Sotira hadn’t a care in the world. She listened to Bithynia with interest, but no apprehension whatsoever. It felt as if she was merely dreaming.

“And what of the Spartan prince, my love?” Machanidas asked. “We could command him to forget everything and send him back to his kingdom.”

“No,” said Kynortas. “Eventually, he would remember.”

“Then he must be kept here in Sicyon,” Bithynia said, displeased. “Hypnotize him to become the captain of our own palace guard. He has Spartan training, right? Well, our men could use a little discipline.“

“Very well,” Machanidas said mildly.

“One moment, my king,” dared Kynortas. “What of… Sotira, Cynisca’s handmaiden?”

Within her trance, Sotira listened, fascinated.

“What of the handmaiden?” the queen said darkly.

“I was thinking,” Kynortas ventured. “I’m a very lonely man, and… well, retaining Sotira as my slave would be a suitable reward, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” allowed Machanidas.

“Out of the question!” snapped Bithynia, furious once more. “You’ve **_already_** been paid handsomely, poet, and don’t forget that you still owe us from your trips to the king’s kitchens and brothel. You’ve had enough, I think.”

“Of course, my queen.”

“She’s a lovely girl, this Sotira,” Bithynia said thoughtfully. “Spend an hour on her, Kynortas, really use the hypnosis to erase her memories. Convince her that she’s a pleasure-slave from Corinth, and then arrange to sell her at the auctions in Mycenae. She can make us some pretty coin, eh?”

“Of course, my queen,” replied Kynortas, struggling to hide his disappointment.

“Then once she’s sold, just make sure she’s not sent back to Sparta,” warned Bithynia. “Perhaps the Persians will snap her up. Wealthy Persian merchants have a thing for big-breasted Greek girls sucking on their cocks.”

With a derisive laugh, the queen added, “Perhaps you missed you calling in life, eh, my love? You’d have made a fine Persian.”

*** *** ***

And then, Sotira was aware of Kynortas commanding her. She was extracted from Cynisca’s lap and then ordered to open her eyes and stand. Doing exactly as she was bid, the Spartan handmaiden followed her master from the chamber, down to a separate room in the Sicyon Palace.

“Sit in the chair,” Kynortas ordered when he and Sotira were in a small antechamber.

Sotira mindlessly obeyed. Within seconds, Kynortas had put her back into the sleep without thought. The young Spartan woman could not resist him.

“And now,” Kynortas’ powerful voice said deep from within Sotira’s mind, “you will relax even deeper, and forget. You will forget. You will forget everything and everyone that was a part of your life before you entered this room. Those things, those people, they are no longer a part of your memory. They slip from your mind, never to return.

“When next you open your eyes, you are Nyxa, a talented and lustful pleasure-slave. You were born in the streets of Corinth, and under a different master, you traveled to Crete, Albania, even Egypt. You learned how to pleasure a man, how to pleasure him by fucking him and how to pleasure him by putting his dick in your mouth. You have been with many men, always satisfying them with your body. You are an addicted slut, Nyxa, always hungry for more sex, always hoping to bed another man.

“You are now very stupid, brainless, and unintelligent. You will find that when you try to think, your thoughts will become hopelessly jumbled up within your pretty little mind. After a few seconds of confusion, you will giggle and simply give up. You now believe that thinking is hard work, and best left to men. You are a bimbo, a subintelligent fool.

“Now… In a few days, you will find yourself in the slave-auction at Mycenae. You will do whatever you must to be sold to a horny master who will fuck you with abandon. No matter how much this man wants you, you will always want to fuck him harder and longer. You will be so happy to be sold as a sex slave.”

And Kynortas spoke on, carefully remolding poor Sotira within her own mind. Within an hour, the girl didn’t know who she was anymore.

*** *** ***


	6. Nyxa at the Mycenean Slave Auction

Mycenae was a harbor city, a major Greek port on the Sea of Crete. Here, sailors from Africa, Italy, and the Persian Empire mingled, bringing goods and coin from all around the world. It was said that a person could hear a hundred different languages in one day while simply walking about the city streets.

Just behind the largest of the peers was the Mycenean auction block. Here, any number of things could be purchased, from live giraffes, barrels of oil, carpets woven from fine wool, exotic weapons, strange fruit, huge slabs of dried meats, horses, chests of spices, bizarre musical instruments, clothes in any color you can imagine, monkeys in cages, pottery of all sizes, and – of course – slaves.

“ ** _Gentlemen!_** ” Soos the Auctioneer cried out over the thick crowd. The hot sun beat down from directly above. “For our next items, I look to the man who knows how he likes his women… naked, and sucking his cock!”

The crowd, all male, roared with appreciative laughter.

“The most beautiful love-slaves in the world are here, right here, for your bidding pleasure!” cried Soos, laying it on thick. “Why, who hasn’t wanted a pretty wench to wrap her tongue around his dick on lonely nights? Are you a captain, sir? Well, how about a willing slave chained to your bed, willing to do whatever you demand? Or perhaps two, eh? You might never leave your cabin, and steer your ship off the edge of the world. But what a way to go!”

The men laughed again. Soos was good at selling, and now every merchant was curious to see the merchandise.

“Without further ado…” the auctioneer cried, milking the moment just a little more, “…let’s bring out the ladies!”

Soos gestured, and a line of women were marched up onto the auction block, led by a stern-looking eunuch with bristling muscles. The slave women were all completely naked, and none of them looked happy in the least. Some were young… very young… while others were in their later years. Most had long hair that had been carefully combed and pulled back by a single ribbon.

“See here,” Soos announced, highlighting a slender young woman with Egyptian features. “The former consort of Pharaoh Kheperkare, right here, gentlemen! An expert in sensuous techniques, very skilled with her fingertips. And with an ass that speaks for itself!” The auctioneer affectionately gave the young woman’s tush a playful slap. “Eh? Shall we start the bidding at… three hundred drachma?”

And so the auction began. One-by-one, the women were sold, usually to cheers among the male crowd. Soos was making a tidy profit.

But then, another slave-cart rolled up to the auction block.

“Ah, gentlemen!” Soos almost sang. “You are all in luck! Fresh slaves, just arrived! Eunuch, bring them up!”

The cart was opened, and a second procession of naked slave-women appeared, quickly upstaging the first. Immediately, all male eyes fell upon the indiscernible Greek beauty who led the group. This woman had soft brown, bewitching eyes, red lips, and touch of endearing baby fat in her cheeks. Her olive-tanned body was small, slender, but very curvy, with bouncing, generous breasts and buttocks. As the young slave skipped across the auction block, all conversations died. Every man stared.

For once, Soos lost his tongue. Gawking at the exceptional beauty, he could only say, “…and you are?”

“I’m Nyxa! _Tee hee hee!_ ” the young woman squealed. “I learned the pleasure-trade in Corinth, gentlemen, and, um… I’ve traveled the world with many, many satisfied masters! Um…” The woman paused, looked confused for a moment, then shrugged and laughed once more. “ _Tee hee hee!_ No-one knows how to pleasure a man like me.” As she fondled one of her breasts, the slave girl blew a big, wet kiss at the crowd. “Mmmm- ** _mah!_** ” 

“Ten thousand drachma!” shouted an eager Arab merchant just before the auction block. “Ten thousand!”

And then, complete pandemonium erupted. Soos was overcome by hundreds of bids all being yelled at once.

*** *** ***

In the end, Nyxa was sold to Leonnatus Harpalus Nearchus Erigyius Perdiccas Aledram Thessalus III (“Leo” to his close friends), an insanely wealthy merchant from Macedonia. Leonnatus happily bid **_two hundred thousand drachma_** for the nubile young woman, which easily set a new record for the Mycenae slave market.

“Oh my, oh my, oh my,” the rich man babbled in delight as he met his latest purchase. “Oh, she is a gem, isn’t she?”

“ _Tee hee hee!_ ” giggled Nyxa.

Leonnatus was an immense man, considerably fat and swollen. He had at least four chins and rolls of fat hanging from his shoulders, arms, chest, and bulging waist. Sadly, his classic-style tunic did little to hide his great bulk. The man had little hair, but an alarming collection of warts on his face and neck. His sausage-like fingers liked to rub his stomach absently.

Nyxa seemed to see none of her new master’s physical defects. She laughed and bounced up and down on her feet when she met Leonnatus for the first time. She was still completely nude, as slave women were forbidden to wear clothes in Mycenae.

“Oh my,” Leonnatus gloated, staring at Nyxa’s bouncing breasts. “Oh my, oh my!”

“Shall we go back to your house, master?” the slave-girl asked coyly.

Leonnatus smirked. “House? No, my dear, we sail with the tide! For home, for Macedonia! On my own ship, right here in the harbor. You do like the sea, don’t you, my dear?”

“ _Tee hee hee,_ ” gushed Nyxa. She struggled to think of a response. “Yes, I like the… um… Oh, _tee hee hee!_ ”

“She’s dumb as a rock,” Leonnatus marveled to Tisamenos, his Chief Servant. “Oh, if only all women were like her, eh?”

“Yes sir,” Tisamenos dutifully replied. He glanced up at the sun. “M’lord, soon the tide will be turn against us. We should-“

“Quite right!” declared Leonnatus. “My ship is loaded for the journey?”

Tisamenos nodded.

“Then let’s go,” the rich man said happily. “I’ll fuck my newest toy once we’re at sea! Oh my, oh my, oh my!”

*** *** ***

Leonnatus owned a double-masted trireme, an impressive long ship that was propelled by sails and a hundred galley slaves. The vessel was well-maintained and freshly-painted, decorated in proud Macedonian colors. Most of the deck held the many barrels and crates that Leonnatus was bringing back to his customers.

But the front of the ship was dedicated to Leonnatus’ comfort and pleasure. Here, there was a small pavilion made from carved wood, with a cushioned sitting-couch placed in the center. From this perch, Leonnatus could recline in comfort, dine, survey the ocean, and be entertained in any way he wished. A small platform was erected right at the very front of the ship, so guests could stand at the nose of the vessel and look straight down into the water.

“We’re casting off now, m’lord,” Tisamenos informed his master, as Leonnatus settled down onto the couch with a deep grunt. “There’s a good wind today.”

“Hmmgh,” Leonnatus grumbled, rubbing his belly. “Girl, come here. Turn around, I want to feel your ass.”

“Ooo, yes, master!” said Nyxa eagerly. She bounced forward, then turned before the merchant and bent over. The fat man happily squeezed one of her meaty buttocks.

“Ohhhh my…” he sighed in contentment. “Yeah…”

“ _Tee hee hee!_ ” giggled Nyxa.

Tisamenos rolled his eyes.

The ship lurched forward as the sails filled with wind. The docks of Mycenae began to fall away. The captain steered for the open sea, away from the smaller boats bobbing about in the harbor.

“Oh, I can’t decide if I want to play with her ass or her boobs,” gushed Leonnatus. “She’s just so delicious!” He sighed. “Girl! Stand on the platform! Bounce up and down for my amusement!”

“Yes, yes, master!” Nyxa cried, springing forward to obey. She mounted the platform, then arched her back in a dancer’s graceful pose. After pausing for a heartbeat, she began dancing up and down, making sure her chest and buttocks were jiggling with her.

“Ohhhh…!” gasped Leonnatus in appreciation and lust. He put both fat hands over his mouth, as if overcome with wonder. “Oh, by Aphrodite! She is a vision!”

“ _Tee hee hee!_ ” laughed Nyxa, and danced with even more abandon.

*** *** ***

Perhaps a hundred yards off the port of Leonnatus’ ship, a smaller fishing vessel plodded through the waves. On board, there were five tired and sweaty fishermen, exhausted from a long day of working their nets. They were returning to port.

Up on deck, Cracus, the youngest fisherman, suddenly straightened. “Hey!” he yelled to his weary companions. “Hey, look!”

The men followed Cracus’ pointing finger.

“Is that… **_a naked lady?_** ” asked Hoban, almost rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

The men instantly forgot their exhaustion. They stared across the water at Leonnatus’ ship, immediately spotting Nyxa, dancing away.

“By Hera’s pussy!” gaped Cracus. “Look at her jugs!”

“I wanna get closer,” Hoban announced. He moved to the tiller. No-one else of the boat objected.

*** *** ***

The crew on Leonnatus’ ship were similarly mesmerized by the bouncing slave-girl. Not one of the ship’s sailors noticed the fishing vessel creeping nearer.

“Oh my, yes, yes!” yelled out Leonnatus. The fat man was almost clapping his hands. “Now shake those hips, my dear, shake that butt!”

“Yes master,” Nyxa promised, and obeyed. Dancing felt so wonderful.

“Ohhh…” Leonnatus beamed, his wide face almost blushing. “Oh, she’s worth every bit of the two hundred thousand drachma I paid for her. Every bit!”

Tisamenos blinked. “You paid **_how much_** , m’lord?”

“I can’t wait to fuck her,” murmured Leonnatus. Speaking only to himself, he asked, “Should I ram her in the pussy, or up the asshole?”

*** *** ***

“ ** _Zeus’s shithole, look out!_** ” screamed Cracus.

Foolish Hoban had gotten too distracted by the dancing woman, and now the fishing ship was just yards from the trireme, and picking up speed. Hoban went white, and threw his back against the tiller. The smaller vessel groaned as it began to turn.

*** *** ***

Tisamenos glanced over the prow, then almost panicked. The fishing vessel was dangerously close.

“ ** _Fuck, look out, LOOK OUT!!!_** ” Leonnatus’ chief servant cried.

There was a horrible jolt as both ships banged into one another. Nyxa screamed as she was tossed off her feet and over the opposite rail.

The naked woman plunged headfirst into the cold sea. She gagged and thrashed about in the water, all of her senses in overload at the same time. _Air!_ she thought. _Air!_

Kicking with all her might, she twisted about, then fought her way to the surface. Her first gasp of oxygen felt like a goddess’ kiss, sweet and so welcoming.

The beautiful young woman shook her head violently, and instantly the spell of hypnosis was broken. She may have dropped into the water as Nyxa, the bubble-headed slave-girl, but now her memory was restored, and she was once more Sotira, Handmaiden of Sparta. The horrid shock and the biting cold of the water had wrenched her back into reality.

As Sotira began swimming, she glanced up at the trireme, still sailing on. From the bow, she could see Leonnatus, staring down at her in complete dismay. “ ** _No, no!_** ” wailed the fat merchant. “She cost me two hundred thousand drachma…!”

And then the big ship was swept away by the winds, heading out to open sea. The smaller fishing vessel wallowed about, but was intact.

Sotira spat in the direction of Leonnatus, her former master, then twisted about in the water. Mycenae Harbor was half a league away, to her left. With no other choice, the handmaiden gulped in a mighty breath, and began swimming.

*** *** ***

When she reached land, the beautiful young handmaiden sunned herself for few minutes to dry off, then crept into the city. She was still completely nude, and without a single possession. The last thing she remembered was Kynortas the poet hypnotizing her, droning on and on and on…

 _One problem at a time,_ the handmaiden told herself. _I’ve gotta find some clothes!_

Sotira’s first big surprise was that her nakedness didn’t make her stand out at all. In Sparta, the slaves wore clothing… but elsewhere throughout Greece, this was not true. Both male and female slaves lived and worked completely naked. Already, the handmaiden could spot dozens of nude slaves in the streets, and no-one seemed to mind in the slightest. True, several men openly gazed at Sotira’s chest and rear, but no-one objected as she walked about.

In Sotira’s day, there was a curious tradition that stated all Spartan children were **_expected_** to steal food. But if the child was caught, they were flogged. This taught youngsters to be quick and ruthless, qualities that were considered essential for future soldiers. So when she had been a child, Sotira had stolen her fair share of bread. (Although Princess Cynisca was the real master criminal. At age nine, the princess had once swiped an entire roast goose from King Archidamus’ table!)

Now, alone in the streets of Mycenae, Sotira returned to her old skills. She nicked a paper bag of figs, then a citizen’s tunic that was dying on a laundry line, and then the coin purse of a distracted shopkeeper. As a pickpocket, she proved to be quite skillful!

*** *** ***

Just east of the markets, Sotira found a public fountain, evidently a popular spot with the locals. Here, children ran about, laughing and playing, while young lovers strolled by hand-in-hand. A few old women were feeding the pigeons by tossing breadcrumbs, and two comic actors were performing street sketches. From here, one had a lovely view of Mycenae’s Megaro Palace, and the Aegean Sea beyond.

The Spartan handmaiden pulled on her stolen tunic, relieved that it was a good fit and felt reasonably comfortable. She’d have to swipe some sandals later, when the opportunity arose; already her bare feet were dirty and stung from walking on the scattered pebbles in the streets.

Sotira sat on the edge of the fountain, hurriedly eating her figs. Her mind churned with worry. How long had it been since she was hypnotized back in Sicyon? Days? Weeks? Sotira wasn’t sure. Her memories while under the spell of the sleeping-weed were hazy and blurred together.

But Sotira clearly remembered something that Kynortas had said: _Eventually, the sleeping-weed permanently leaves its victims in a mindless, obedient state._ And Queen Bithynia’s reply: _Well, you’ll be hypnotizing Princess Cynisca day and night. She must never have another independent thought again._

The words stung Sotira’s mind. Cynisca was doomed to become a thoughtless puppet? How long could the princess hold out before her free will was taken from her forever?

Placed in this situation, any other Greek servant might have shrugged their shoulders and sought out a new life. But not Sotira. Down to her core, **_she was Spartan_** , with Sparta’s code of honor infused into her very bones. What would Captain Orestes or the elders say? _Your honor is your soul._ If Cynisca fell into permanent slavery, and Sotira didn’t do all she could to save her mistress, then Sotira would answer to Hades for her cowardice in the afterlife.

Besides, the Spartan princess was all the family that Sotira had in the world. **_She had to save Cynisca._** No matter what the cost.

Two small children raced across the plaza, scattering pigeons into the sky. Sotira watched the gray birds flutter about, and considered her options.

It was too late to race back to Sparta. By the time Sotira explained all to King Cleomenes, Cynisca’s mind would be lost. The young handmaiden was on her own. And she had to act quickly.

Cursing her evil luck, Sotira spat out her last fig pit, crumpled the empty parchment bag, and tossed it aside. An older man, probably an idling shopkeeper, was openly gaping at her beauty.

“Excuse me, sir?” Sotira called out, flashing her most winning smile. “I’ve forgotten; how do I get to the public stables?”

“Eh?” the man said, popping out of his fantasy. “Oh, er… That way. Past the Cistern. Right by the Postern Gate.” He added hopefully, “I could show you, if you like?”

“I’m good,” Sotira beamed. “Thanks.”

Without another word, the beautiful young women hurried off, summoning her courage. She would steal a horse, then ride for Sicyon like the wind. It was, after all, what Cynisca would do for her.

The old man watched as Sotira bounced away into the crowds. He sighed to himself, fondly wondering about what might have been.

*** *** ***

Elsewhere, deep within the Sicyon Palace dungeon, Princess Cynisca scowled fiercely at the three guards. The beautiful young Spartan was in her cell, a small chamber of stone, with iron bars barring the way into the corridor. A small window, merely a slit cut into the rock, allowed natural sunlight to stream inside. The cell was dank, but Cynisca’s hosts had arranged for a reclining couch to be placed within. Cynisca now sat on that couch, stewing in her rage.

The guards facing her were young and strong, and they handled their weapons with obvious experience. Nonetheless, Cynisca’s skilled eye could spot their weaknesses, their blind spots, their overconfidence. If only she were on the other side of the bars! She’d smash them to the stone floor within seconds.

Footfalls approached. The beautiful princess tensed.

In the corridor, Kynortas the poet appeared, carrying a wide clay bowl and a clay bottle. He smiled pleasantly. “Good day, princess,” he said amiably.

Enraged, Cynisca merely glared back.

“Its time for your wine, my dear,” said Kynortas, holding out the bottle.

 _I won’t drink_ , Cynisca thought furiously. _I won’t, I wont!_

She already knew what would happen. The wine would make her feel light-headed. Then Kynortas would burn more of his white twigs, and soon Cynisca would detect the scent of cumin and pine. Her thoughts would whirl, and then Kynortas would command her to go to sleep. Once her eyes closed, Cynisca knew, she was in the poet’s thrall, and could not resist anything he demanded of her.

“Not thirsty?” chuckled Kynortas. “Well, alas for you, I’ve already given you instructions for moments like this.” Then, deliberately over-pronouncing every word, he said, “ ** _You Will Obey._** ”

Cynisca’s mind went blank. “I will obey,” she heard herself echo.

“Yes,” grinned Kynortas. “Now, drink the wine. **_You Will Obey._** ”

“I will obey,” repeated Cynisca, and she rose to accept the bottle.

 _Don’t drink, don’t drink, don’t drink!_ the princess pleaded with herself inside her mind.

But the urge to do as Kynortas was too strong. Cynisca could not resist. She accepted the bottle, and drank deeply.

“That should do it,” smiled the poet, already kneeling and lighting a small bundle of white twigs. “Now, relax, Princess. Soon you’ll be willing do and believe all that I put into your pretty little head…”

*** *** ***

A quarter-hour later, Kynortas and a deeply hypnotized Cynisca were admitted into King Machanidas’ and Queen Bithynia’s bedchamber. This room was quite large, with a high domed ceiling and white walls. The center of the chamber was dominated by the royal bed, and the bed was currently dominated by King Machanidas himself, sprawled across the sleeping cushions. The king was in the nude; his penis began to swell when the entranced Cynisca appeared.

To the side of the bed was a large wooden chair, holding Queen Bithynia. The queen was holding a hand loom, and was absently weaving. She wore a royal tunic of purple, with her usual crown resting on her brow. Behind the queen, two older servant women stood against the wall. One held a pitcher of water; the other fresh linens.

“The Princess Cynisca is hypnotized and ready for you, my king,” Kynortas said, bowing low.

“Mmm…!” grinned Machanidas, gazing at the blank-faced Cynisca. His erection grew.

Bithynia glanced at the royal phallus, and frowned. “Pace yourself, my love,” she scowled disapprovingly. “You’re here to impregnate the girl, not to enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, Cynisca is **_always_** enjoyable,” Machanidas declared, perhaps a bit too quickly. “She’s the best fuck.”

The queen’s mouth thinned. “You’ve fucked the princess four times now, Mach, and yet she’s still not with child. Perhaps you’re not as virile as you boasted…?”

“Ah, I’ve got plenty of future sons in my cock,” scoffed Machanidas.

“It has been, what, over two years since your mistresses had another one of your bastards?” Bithynia asked dryly. “You’re losing your skills, Old Man.”

Looking uncomfortable, Kynortas interjected, “Forgive me, ma’am… but the princess will only be in deep hypnosis for an hour or so. We should…”

“Yes, yes, command her to get naked,” Bithynia snarled.

Kynortas relayed the instructions, and soon Cynisca was obediently disrobing. Machanidas admired how the natural sunlight make her soft skin seem to glow. When she was in the nude, Cynisca was glorious to behold, indeed.

“How much longer until the sleeping-weed would forever clouds her mind?” Bithynia asked impatiently.

“Not much longer, my queen,” the poet replied, sounding nervous. “Cynisca has been repeatedly hypnotized. Her free will can’t hold out much longer.”

“Hmmgh,” scowled Bithynia.

Eager to change the subject, Kynortas turned to his king. “What is your fantasy today, sire?”

*** *** ***

Cynisca allowed her eyes to flutter open. Where was she? What was…

Oh. Oh, she knew. She was… _a shepherdess, a common shepherdess, an innocent peasant, no more. Why, only a minute before, she’d been out on the grassy hillside, absently picking flowers while her flock grazed. The sun had been bright. She’d been happily singing a little tune…_

_But where was she now?_

_Cynisca the Shepherdess looked about, awed by her surroundings. She was in a great, white temple, with shining white walls and bright light streaming everywhere. The sacred smell of nectar and ambrosia filled her nostrils. This could only be…_

_“Mount Olympus…!” Cynisca said in wonder._

_“Yes,” a booming voice said. “Welcome to my bedchamber, kid.”_

_Hardly daring to breath, Cynisca turned, and beheld what could only be a god, lying nude upon a great, white bed. She sucked in her breath._

_The god was extremely well-muscled, with an enormous, firm chest, shoulders, and legs. Cynisca could see the great muscles in his arms, and she instinctively thought that this deity could probably snap an oak in two across his mighty knee. The god was strikingly handsome, with shining blue eyes, a broad, chiseled face, and teeth that looked like perfect white stones. A thick, curly beard hung from his jaw and chin._

_And… Cynisca’s eyes could not help but stray… the god had an enormous penis. It was erect, proud and purple, thrust out as if the god intended to use it to duel. That penis seemed to shine with its own light._

_The shepherdess gasped, throwing herself to the floor. For the first time, she realized that she was completely naked herself._

_“Zeus!” the girl exclaimed. “O Zeus, I beg thee-“_

_“Alright, alright,” Zeus cut in, sounding unimpressed. “C’mere, uh, mortal. Get on the bed.”_

_“O Zeus,” Cynisca continued, “I meekly beg forgiveness for all the times I’ve taken your name as a curse or in vain. In fact-“_

_“Yeah, yeah, whatever, its okay,” glowered Zeus. “Forget it. Get up here, princess.”_

_“I obey,” Cynisca assured The Ruler of the Universe, and scrambled onto the bed._

_The cushions were soft, so soft, as if they were made from clouds. Cynisca gasped as she felt their divine fabric press against her skin._

_“Yeahhhhh…” Zeus grinned, pulling Cynisca close and then running an appreciative hand over her nude hips. “Oh, you make me soooo fucking horny, princess.”_

_“Yes, O Zeus,” replied Cynisca, puzzled. The old legends always described Zeus as an insatiable seducer of beautiful young women, gifted with a silver tongue. The shepherdess had always that he would be, well, charming. Romance didn’t seem to be on the deity’s mind._

_“Mmm, yeah, you make me so hot, so fucking hot,” moaned Zeus, pulling Cynisca against him and wildly kissing her exposed breasts. “…mmm… …so hot…!”_

_“Yes, O Zeus,” Cynisca replied._

_The god frowned. “Make her into a horny bitch,” he commanded._

_Then, another man’s voice spoke. Cynisca did not see this man, but his deep voice seemed to penetrate within the very depths of her mind. She was transfixed by his words._

_“_ **When I next snap my fingers, princess,** _” the male voice said, “_ **you will discover that you are wild for sex with Lord Zeus. You are in heat, and desperately want his seed within you.** _”_

_Before Cynisca could ponder this message, she heard a loud clicking sound. Her thoughts vanished from her mind._

_Suddenly, the shepherdess was overcome by a wave of undeniable lust. Her vagina became wet and eager._

_With a passion she didn’t understand, Cynisca leaned against her god-lover. “Kiss me,” she moaned, and pressed her lips to his._

_Zeus was both a terrible and amazing kisser. Oh, he didn’t seem to know how to use his lips, and his tongue slithered all about Cynisca’s mouth as if it were trying to steal her teeth. But at the same time, there was something undeniably arousing about the feel of the god’s body against her own. Cynisca chose to appreciate the positive._

_She could smell her own arousal. Was Zeus still erect?_

_“I want to fuck you, O Zeus,” she gasped. “Oh, I want to fuck you!”_

_“Yeah,” grinned Zeus, cupping her breasts. “Yeah, I-“_

_“Shut up,” moaned Cynisca, no longer in control of herself. She planted both hands on Zeus’s broad chest, then firmly pushed him onto his back. His rigid penis was now pointing up in the air._

_Working fast, Cynisca climbed atop the godlike body, careful to arch her back so her vagina was well-placed. Meanwhile, Zeus latched onto her breasts once again, happily playing with her nipples._

_“Oh, yeaaaaaaahhh…” Cynisca muttered to herself, as she carefully adjusted her hips. She could feel Zeus’s cock, blindly poking against her buttocks. Her hand slipped beneath herself, and she found the divine penis. A quick adjustment and a shift of her hips aligned it, just so._

_“Ohhhh…” Zeus mumbled, anticipating what was about to happen next. His hands froze as he closed his eyes._

_Cynisca smiled, then slid back onto Zeus’s waiting shaft. She’d had other boys before, of course, but the penis of a god is no ordinary genitalia. The shepherdess’ vagina burst into overjoyed delight, positively washing her entire body in wave upon wave of pleasure._

_“…ugh!” grunted Cynisca, overcome. She trembled._

_Zeus’ penis was still thrust all the way inside her. Cynisca could_ **feel** _it, throbbing, shining, rearing to fuck. It was a sensation unlike she had ever imagined._

_The beautiful young woman opened her hazel eyes, and discovered that Zeus was staring at her, his mouth open in a wordless cry of ecstasy, his face contorted. He, like her, was aching to fornicate._

_But Cynisca was on top. Zeus, for all his power, could not move._

_Slowly, but with a building speed, Cynisca began rocking her hips up and down, up and down. Zeus’ cock slid out, then back in, then out again, then back in again. Each thrust felt more wonderful than the last._

_“Ohhhh gods…!” Zeus improbably mumbled._

_Cynisca reshut her eyes, and planted her hands more firmly on the deity’s broad chest. His cock tasted wonderful. She bounced harder, and then harder still._

_“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” panted Zeus. “Oh, fuck! Ugh!”_

_He spasmed from head to toe, and Cynisca felt his penis kick. The King of The Gods was cumming, cumming deep within her! The orgasm must have been powerful enough to move planets!_

_And that was it. Cynisca felt what little control she had left slipping, and then she was cumming, too. Her vagina, unable to hold out any longer, sighed in happiness and gushed with juices to bathe Zeus’ cock. She hollered in triumph, so happy to be swept away by her body and her emotions._

*** *** ***

Standing off to one side, Kynortas flinched. Princess Cynisca was reaching the end of her orgasm. Her back muscles were tensed, beaded with sweat, but starting to relax. The young woman’s face was flexed into a silent mask of joy and exhaustion; her toes were tightly curled up at the ends of her lovely feet.

Underneath the hypnotized princess, King Machanidas grimaced happily, went cross-eyed, and then collapsed into his mattress. The ruler of Sicyon had dropped into a deep sleep.

“…uh… uh… uh…” Cynisca gasped, struggling to gain control of her own breath. The king’s penis was still within her, as far as Kynortas could tell.

“Alright, I think that’s enough,” Queen Bithynia said in disgust. Machanidas’ wife had watched the sex without comment. Now she seemed annoyed by the whole affair.

“…O Zeus…” whispered Cynisca, still lost within her hypnosis fantasy.

“Put her under,” snapped Bithynia.

Kynortas hurried forward. He touched the young princess on her forehead. “Sleep,” he commanded.

Instantly, Cynisca’s whole body went limp. Her expression went blank as she tumbled off Machanidas and onto the mattress. She remained motionless.

“The little slut had better be pregnant,” snarled Bithynia, rising from her chair. “Clean her up, make sure she remembers nothing, then return her to her cell. The doctor will examine her in the morning.”

And with that, the queen stalked from the bedchamber.

Kynortas leaned over Cynisca, pouring new commands into her mind. As he did, the poet found himself trembling.

 _The king impersonated a god?_ he thought anxiously.

Such blasphemous behavior could not remain overlooked forever. Sooner or later, Kynortas knew, the gods would see what Machanidas and Bithynia were doing… and their wrath would descend over all of Sicyon.

*** *** ***


	7. The Serving-Maidens of Sicyon Palace

“…don’t I know your face?” Haritas the guard said, his expression suspicious.

Sotira was once again in the village outside Sicyon’s gates, standing once more before the two great doors that led into the city. The Arabian stallion that she’d snatched from the Mycenae stables stood beside her, gasping for breath. It had been a long, hard ride.

Haritas frowned. _Oh shit, does he recognize me?_ Sotira thought. She hunched her shoulders and tilted her head to one side. Then she flashed what she hoped was a cheerful smile.

The guard waggled one finger. “I’m **_certain_** I’ve seen you before,” he declared.

Channeling Nyxa the Love Slave Bimbo, Sotira forced a playful laugh. “Well, of course you’ve seen me before, mister,” she lied. “I’m, uh, Hippocratidas’ new wife. _Tee hee hee!_ You boys know my Hippo, don’cha?”

Haritas and Lelex exchanged glances.

Sotira tossed her hair, and bounced on her heels, hoping she appeared carefree. “Oh, my Hippo, he owns the orchard by the sea! _Sweetest Apples in all of Greece_. You know!”

Mesmerized by the young woman’s bobbing chest, Lelex said, “Oh, yeah… Hippo, the Apple Guy! Bad teeth, and farts a lot? I know him. You’re his woman, eh?”

“Yep,” Sotira forced herself to say with excitement. “Yeah, that’s my Hippo! _Tee hee hee!_ ”

“Sure, g’wan in,” Lelex waved.

The beautiful young woman hurried through the gates, before Haritas could study her further. Her exhausted horse trotted alongside her.

Haritas frowned at his partner.

“How’d old Hippocratidas score such a hot wife?” marveled Lelex, shaking his head. “And where can I trade mine in?”

“Ugh,” Haritas said, disgusted.

*** *** ***

Once back within Sicyon’s walls, Sotira wanted to attract as little attention as possible. It pained her to do it, but she had to abandon her Arabian steed. Oh, the beast had been magnificent as transportation across the Greek countryside, but he was too conspicuous in the little city. Sotira couldn’t even afford to try and sell him, lest someone remember her later.

“Sorry, boy,” the handmaiden murmured, patting the horse on the jaw. “I’m sure you’ll find a good master here.”

The horse grunted. He was aching for a rest and glad to be abandoned.

Sotira turned and hurried deeper into the city.

*** *** ***

After stealing an apple as her midday meal, Sotira put the palace under surveillance. Right away, she spotted a cluster of women servants who emptied the palace garbage into the street. They all wore simple sleeveless robes made from plain white linen. And these girls were young, just Sotira’s age!

When the pretty servants were finished, they retreated back into the palace, gossiping amongst themselves. Sotira hurried, and managed to creep inside, just behind the maidens. Not one of the servants noticed.

Now that she was inside the palace, the Spartan woman clung to the walls and the shadows, staying out of sight. Sotira couldn’t remember the Sicyon palace very well, but a lifetime of service in King Cleomenes’ house gave her all the information she needed to know.

It was child’s play to creep down into the servants’ quarters. The female servants all slept within one cramped chamber. Sotira rooted about in storage trunks until she found a spare maid’s robe. The uniform fit her Spartan frame quite well.

 _Ah ha,_ thought Sotira, pleased with her luck. She made a quick prayer of thanks to Athena, and then helped herself to a pair of sandals.

Now free to wander about the palace, the handmaiden set out to find Prince Agis.

*** *** ***

The Sicyon palace was much more lavish than King Cleomenes’ house back in Sparta, but it was also much smaller. By keeping her head down, acting meek, and never making eye contact with anyone, Sotira could freely explore.

The main chambers were opulent, always decorated with plenty to dazzle the eye. Sotira couldn’t help but admire the polished columns, marble floors, statues of heroes and gods, paintings spread across the walls, and the soft gauze that was hung in long strips over the wide windows.

Of particular spectacle was the Grand Hall, a giant chamber just inside the palace’s two main double doors. The hall’s domes roof was quite high and flanked by four enormous marble statues of Zeus, Hera, Athena, and Apollo. A large archway led to the main corridor; a large, wide urn stood to one side, with King Machanidas and Queen Bithynia painted on the side.

The Grand Hall was filled with all sorts of people: servants, slaves, wealthy landowners who had business with the king and queen, and other assorted hangers-on. Sotira observed everyone, but kept to the shadows.

*** *** ***

Perhaps three hours before sundown, the Spartan handmaiden heard the footfalls of heavy military sandals approach from a corridor. Curious, she peered into the passageway.

Prince Agis appeared, leading four guards. All five men were dressed in Sicyon armor and helmets. Agis nearly trampled poor Sotira.

The prince glared at the young woman. “Out of my way, wench!” he snarled.

So Sotira scrambled back, bowing her head low. Agis and the guards swept on, not giving her a second glance.

Sotira let out a relived sigh. The two Spartans had locked gazes, yet Agis had not recognized his countrywoman. He couldn’t remember her! He was still hypnotized.

Being exceedingly careful, Sotira followed Agis throughout the palace. The young Spartan prince clearly believed he was the Sicyon Captain of the Guard, posting men here and there, and reprimanding the odd slouching or daydreaming soldier. He was strict and uncompromising. If the circumstances were not so wicked, Captain Orestes would have been proud.

As she studied Agis, Sotira’s keen mind began working on a plan. Somehow, and she didn’t know how, she would have to free Cynisca and Agis, and then the three Spartans had to escape the palace.

But how? Sotira noted that while Agis was in command, he was always accompanied by at least one guard who watched him closely. So the Sicyons were happy to hypnotize Agis into their service, but they didn’t trust him completely!

 _Interesting…!_ thought the Spartan woman. The wheels in her head turned faster.

*** *** ***

An hour after Sotira had been tailing Prince Agis, a door opened, and Kynortas the poet appeared, leaning on his walking stick. A servant followed, holding a clay bowl and a goatskin of wine. Sotira’s heart thudded at the sight of the hypnotist, and she shrunk back against a wall. Luckily, Kynortas did not glance in her direction.

“Captain? Captain, a word, if I may,” the older man said.

“I’m busy,” snapped Agis.

“You must drink this,” Kynortas insisted, thrusting the wine into Agis’ hands. “ ** _You_** **_must obey._** ”

Agis’ face went blank. “I must obey,” he tonelessly agreed.

The prince mindlessly accepted the goatskin, lifted it to his lips, and drank deeply.

“Very good,” said Kynortas blandly, working over the clay bowl. There was a flash of sparks, and then a white smoke rose up from the little vessel. Sotira could smell cumin and pine. Instinctively, she pressed against the wall a little harder. And held her breath.

“Here,” Kynortas ordered, thrusting the smoking bowl under Agis’ face. “Breathe deeply, captain. Breathe deeply, and relax…”

The prince did as he was bid, rapidly falling under the spell of hypnosis. Soon, he was obediently responsive to the poet’s every command.

“You will follow Damus here back down to the dungeons,” ordered Kynortas. “Once there, you’ll return to your bed and fall into a deep, natural sleep. However, the next time you hear my voice or smell the smoke of the sleeping-weed, you will return into deep hypnosis. You cannot resist; say it!”

“I cannot resist,” Agis droned in a flat voice.

“Very good,” grunted Kynortas, thrusting the still-smoking bowl back at the servant, who looked positively terrified of the white smoke. To Damus the Guard, Kynortas instructed, “Take the Spartan prince back down to the cell. Do not let him see Princess Cynisca; she’s also down there, and in a deep sleep.”

“You don’t want to give Agis more instructions?” Damus asked incredulously.

Kynortas stifled a yawn. “No, my boy, no. Her majesty our Queen has kept me mighty busy. I’ll put more commands in Agis’ mind, but in the morning. Both of the Spartans are close to becoming permanently under my thrall.”

Damus shrugged. “As you command.”

*** *** ***

A little more careful exploring told Sotira all she needed to know. When not hypnotized, Cynisca and Agis were imprisoned down in the palace dungeons – an indignity no Spartan citizen should ever have to suffer! The princess and prince were forced to wait there until Kynortas plied them with wine, smoke, and then hypnosis. And then, they once again became willing slaves for King Machanidas and Queen Bithynia.

But there were always at least three guards stationed at the palace jail, and Sotira couldn’t see a way past them. The men were alert and well-trained.

*** *** ***

Just before sundown, Sotira noticed a shift in the palace. The servants seemed to relax, as if they were no longer under the watchful eye of their masters. A few of them were actually laughing.

Intrigued, Sotira watched two of the male porters, and realized that every last servant and slave were making their way deeper into the palace. Of course! This was the servants’ supper hour. King Machanidas and Queen Bithynia had already had their evening meal, and now it was the help’s turn to dine.

Sotira’s stomach rumbled. She’d had precious little to eat since escaping Mycenae.

So the resourceful handmaiden simply followed the crowd, curious to see what lay ahead.

The servants’ dining hall was an unremarkable chamber of cheap plaster and oak beams, lit only by a handful of tall candles. The servants themselves sat on long benches, balancing their plates in their laps. Conversation was merry and light.

Before she knew what was happening, Sotira found herself in the dining queue. “Here ye are,” one of the cooks grunted, thrusting a wooden plate at her; supper was spiced hardbread, a slab of salted fish, and moldy-looking figs. A cup of cheap wine was also supplied.

The beautiful Spartan woman accepted, and sensing the eyes of the men upon her, quickly scooted across the hall to join the other maids. They were all quite young, perhaps between seventeen and nineteen years of age. The maids were engrossed in a conversation involving much teasing and laughter.

“’ey!” one of the heavier girls said as Sotira sat down. “Who‘re you?”

Sotira froze. Immediately, every maid was carefully studying her.

“I’m…” the Spartan woman said, thinking fast, “…uh, I’m Agamede. Queen Bithynia’s newest handmaiden.”

The chubby woman looked taken aback. “Bithy’s got a new girl? I didn’t hear that, did you, girls?”

The other maids shook their heads.

 _Fuck_ , thought Sotira. She shrugged, then offered, “Well, I’m new. Just come up from, uh, Knossos, down in Crete. You know, the queen wants a Crete girl to do her hair and makeup; she heard that the Cretan styles down there will be Athenian fashion by the harvest.”

The maids stared. Then the heavy-set maid shrugged. “Eh, Old Bithy’s never gonna look as pretty as them ladies up in Athens,” she grunted. “I wonder why she cares.”

Sotira shrugged.

“My name’s Argelia,” the fat maid said, wiping her hand on her tunic before offering an enthusiastic handshake. She then gestured to a skinny, horsefaced maid sitting beside her. “This skank here is Phile.”

“S’up?” Phile nodded.

Sotira smiled and nodded back.

Argelia eyed Sotira’s body, then shook her head. “With big boobs like yours, honey, you better take care than King Machanidas doesn’t try to get’cha into his bed. ‘Cause if Bithy finds out you fucked her husband, it’ll be a nasty whipping for you.”

“Ah, Old Man Machanidas is too distracted,” opined Phile. “He’s too busy fucking his hypnotized Spartan whore.”

Sotira flinched, but the other women laughed. “When has Machy ever **_not_** taken the opportunity to snatch some fresh pussy?” scoffed Argelia. “That man would bone every maiden in Greece, given the chance.”

“You want my figs?” Phile asked Argeia, holding out her plate.

“Sure,” Argeia replied, helping herself. “Say, girls, speaking of getting laid… Who’s getting lucky tomorrow night?”

There was a round of chortling and blushing from the other maids.

“Areus, that new weaver guy, he’s mine!” Phile insisted. “I saw him first.”

“By Pan’s dick, you did!” retorted another maid.

Sotira must have appeared perplexed, for Argeia gave her a pitying look. “The Dionysia Festival is tomorrow night,” the chubby maid said.

“The what now?” Sotira asked, playing dumb.

Argeia set her plate aside and scooted closer to Sotira. “The Dionysia Festival is a **_big deal_** in Sicyon. Our king and queen might be a pair of cruel twats, but once a year, they throw the biggest summertime party in all of Greece. Free wine, free entertainment, good food, public debauchery, you name it.” She lowered her voice. “If you ask me, they give us the festival because it keeps the peasants dumb and happy. Give a Sicyon a free mug of wine, and he’s yours.” She shook her head.

“No kidding,” Sotira remarked.

“Dionysia is, like, the one night of the year when no-one is watching us servant girls,” Argeia said, disgruntled. “So you **_better believe_** momma’s getting laid tomorrow.”

The maidens’ conversation continued, with each woman arguing who was angling to seduce what man. These women were mighty confident in their sexual desirability, a confidence Sotira was not sure they deserved. But she listened anyway, carefully watching her new companions.

A plan was forming in the Spartan woman’s head. It was foolhardy and almost certainly doomed to failure. A million things could go wrong, and if she failed, Sotira had no doubt that she would be captured and rehypnotized by her captors. If not put to death.

But what had Cynisca once told her? _You think Perseus went off to fight Medusa with confidence? In all those old stories, the hero fights with the slimmest of hope._

But Sotira’s choice was to risk everything… or do nothing, and allow Cynisca and Agis to fall into a life of mindless slavery.

*** *** ***

The palace maids all slept in one community room, down in the palace basement. No-one blinked when Sotira simply claimed a bed in the corner. For the first time since leaving Sparta, the young handmaiden enjoyed a restful, soothing sleep.

In the morning, the whole palace seemed abuzz. “Its Festival Day!” Argeia exclaimed, her face shining.

“Hurry up, chicks,” Phile warned. “Nicander will have our hides if we aren’t out in the plaza, helping to get everything ready. Move yer butts!”

Sotira had little choice but to help with the other servants. The plaza was being decorated in streamers and flowers, and long tables were being brought out for the evening feast. There was plenty of work to be done.

*** *** ***

Perhaps three hours after midday, the first of the country peasants trickled into the plaza, helping themselves to the free wine. A troupe of actors assumed the wooden stage, and began performing Lysistrata, a popular comedy by Aristophanes. Sotira didn’t know the play, but she thought the male lead playing Kinesias was very, very cute. The palace kitchens opened, and fresh-baked bread was brought out and piled onto the serving tables. Male slaves started a roaring bonfire, just beside the plaza’s fountain.

“When do we servants get to celebrate?” Sotira asked Argeia.

“Sundown,” sighed the heavier woman. “Come on, help me with the tablecloths?”

*** *** ***

By the time the sun was setting, the plaza was packed with Sicyons, some from the city, others from the surrounding countryside. All were having the merriest time. The actors on the stage were still laboring through Lysistrata, but few in the drunken crowd were paying attention. The bonfire blazed higher.

Then there was a mighty cheer as the doors of the palace opened wide. King Machanidas and Queen Bithynia strolled into the plaza, each dressed in their finest. The king beamed with delight, and he tossed out fat handfuls of _sesamous_ candy from the basket he carried. The queen wore a fixed smile, but she seemed disgusted by the reveling all about her. While Machanidas laughed with the crowd, Bithynia quickly moved to the reviewing platform and assumed her throne.

“ ** _Let Dionysia begin!_** ” roared the king. His people whooped and cheered.

At the same time, Nicander the Chief Servant appeared, still dressed in his official palace tunic. Every palace servant froze, watching the tall man intently. Not without a bit of a frown, Nicander made a broad gesture with his arm, then slunk back into the palace.

“Hot Hercules’ buns!” Argeia cried, actually grabbing Sotira by the arm in her excitement. “That’s it! We’re off-duty!”

“Finally!” exclaimed Phile, and the horsefaced woman broke out into a devilish grin. “Lemme at that wine!”

With Argeia and Phile in the lead, the maids plowed into the thick crowd. Sotira hung back, carefully watching everything.

King Machanidas was charming a crowd of appreciative women, cracking off-color jokes. Queen Bithynia had summoned two female aristocrats to stand by her throne, and was now engaged in conversation. The crowds were growing louder and larger and drunker. The bonfire was burning higher. All of Sicyon was partying away.

Satisfied, Sotira turned and slipped back through the palace’s open front doors.

*** *** ***

A skeleton crew of guards watched over the royal household. Bored, and wishing they were at the festival, these men hardly glanced as Sotira as she hurried through the corridors.

The young woman knew exactly where she was going. Down the hall from the royal residence was the luxury suite of Kynortas the poet. The door was closed. Hesitantly, Sotira softly knocked on the door. No-one answered. Her heart pounding, the handmaiden pulled the door open, then crept inside Kynortas’ apartment.

Almost immediately, Sotira’s eyes popped. The poet’s main sitting-room was well-furnished and very comfortable. There were ornately-carved sitting couches, arranged around a dining table. Four statues of beautiful nude women marked the room’s corners. Colorful parrots squawked and fussed within two brass cages.

Sotira shook her head in wonder and disgust. Back in Sparta, not even the royal families had such lavish accommodations!

Sotira looked about hurriedly, quickly spotting what she sought. In a wide scroll-shelf built into the wall, there were several tied bundles of the dried white sleeping-weed. Sotira seized five – all she could carry – and hurriedly wrapped them in one of Kynortas’ spare robes. Then, careful to hunch over her stolen possessions, she hurried back into the palace corridor.

There were only two guards posted in the Great Hall when Sotira reappeared, struggling with her burden. The men were craning their necks out the palace’s front doors, obviously longing to join the party. Neither of them saw Sotira drop her stolen bundles into the Great Hall’s large urn.

*** *** ***

Back out in the plaza, the festival was in full swing. Sicyons of all stripes were drinking and singing, drinking and shouting, drinking and laughing. At least four enormous barrels of wine had been consumed! Up on the stage, the poor actors had given up their performance, and it was just as well; no-one was paying the slightest attention, anyway. At least six different bands were playing in different corners of the plaza. This was a party that could be heard on Olympus.

Taking care not to be seen by King Machanidas or Queen Bithynia, Sotira wove through the crowd, searching for her newest companions. Several drunken men tried to grab her, but the wily young woman easily swatted them aside or simply danced out of their reach.

“’Ay, baby!” one sloshed lad said, as he tried to wrap his arms around Sotira’s thin waist. “Y’want shome wine? _Har, har!_ Ish free, ya know!”

“No, thanks,” Sotira snapped, shoving the lout away. She wouldn’t be drinking wine again in Sicyon, not ever.

A few familiar voices caught Sotira’s ear, and she turned. There, to her right, were the palace maids, pink-cheeked and sweating, dancing with a group of grubby-looking farmhands. Already, a few of the maids were pairing off with the guys. Things were getting hot and heavy.

 _By Hera, I’m just in time,_ Sotira thought in relief.

Pushing her way through the crowd, the beautiful handmaiden reached her fellow servants. She did her best to act drunk.

“Oh my gods, **_you guys_** ,” Sotira shouted happily, throwing an arm around Argeia’s round shoulders, “I’m, like, having the **_best time!_** ”

“To Dionysia!!!” hollered Argeia, then belched.

“You bitches found th’good mens yet?” Sotira asked, taking care to slur her words.

“We a’ready gots th’ (hic) good mens!” Phile replied, eyeing a bucktoothed farmhand.

“These guys?” gagged Sotira, and made a show of rolling her eyes. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no.”

The maids (and farmhands) protested vigorously.

“No, no, ladies, think about it,” Sotira went on, gripping Argeia and Phile by the hands. “Who’s hotter? Farm hands? Or… **_palace soldiers?_** ” She waggled her eyebrows.

Both Argeia and Phile hesitated.

“Palace soldiers?” Argeia echoed stupidly.

“Palace soldiers!” Sotira nodded. “I dunno ‘bout you, but muscled men in armor makes me hot. Eh?”

“Y’know,” Phile reflected, “Yer… (hic)… Yer… (hic)… Yer right! I seen th’ soldiers once, swimmin’ in th’ river.” In a very loud whisper, she confided, “Them’s got **_hot buns_**. Liiiiiiike, (hic) like, really hot buns.”

Most of the drunken maids were listening very closely now.

“How hot?” Argeia wanted to know.

Phile swayed on her feet, thinking. “Like… a **_lot_**.”

“Ladies,” Sotira teased, “the palace is full of horny, on-duty soldiers, just waaaaaaaaiting for you!”

*** *** ***

Under Sotira’s direction, the maids swaggered over to the wine table, snatched several goatskins of wine, and then stormed through the palace’s front doors. They staggered into the Grand Hall, laughing.

The two soldiers on duty in the Grand Hall stared.

“See?” crowed Sotira. “I told ya!”

And that was it. Suddenly the maids swarmed over the guards, laughing and groping and kissing and making all kinds of lewd promises. And despite Prince Agis’ disciplined training, I’m afraid the guards shirked duty fairly quickly. They each drank generous helpings of wine, and then began making out with a maid. The two men were unable to contain themselves.

“Aw, I still ain’t got no-one,” Argeia pouted. “Where’s mine-”

“Relax, Argy,” assured Sotira. “You know where they put the toughest, most strongest and hottest men? _Tee hee hee!_ ” She pointed past the Grand Hall, down the corridor, to the doorway that led down to the dungeons.

Of course, this made no sense… but Argeia and her sisters were quite beyond rational thought at this point.

“Yeah!” hiccuped Phile. “Th’ prison dudes! They’s hot!”

This triggered a stampede of aggressive and determined women, all plowing down into the dungeon.

Moving quickly, Sotira dashed to the large urn, and yanked out one of Kynortas’ bundles of white twigs. Her plan was falling into place

*** *** ***


	8. Hypnotism at the Dionysia Festival

The palace dungeons were undoubtably the gloomiest place in all of Sicyon. Three guards, bored and miserable, sat about on wooden stools, trying to drum up interest in a game of dice. In their cells, Princess Cynisca and Prince Agis glared at the soldiers; but the guards took no notice. The muffled sounds of Dionysia could be heard from above.

But then the door from up the stairs banged open.

“Oh booooooooys!” a hearty woman’s voice sang out. This was followed by many naughty giggles.

“What the…” a guard said.

And then like a river of arms and drunken smiles, the maids were upon the bewildered guards, kissing and chortling, plying the men with wine and filthy promises. There must have been three woman per guard, but no-one seemed to care about the gender imbalance.

The guards could hardly believe their luck. As the women yanked off their armor and underclothes, the men allowed themselves to be kissed and caressed. The makings of a very drunken orgy were taking root, right there on the dungeon floor.

As maids and guards drank and got familiar with one another, absolutely no-one noticed Sotira moving down the stairs. The Spartan handmaiden paused beside a wall-mounted torch, and held up the bundle of sticks in her small hands. The bundle rapidly caught fire. Soon, it was producing a generous amount of the white smoke, which billowed up on the low ceiling. The smell of cumin and pine filled everyone’s nostrils.

Sotira tossed the bundle to the floor, then patiently waited.

One-by-one, the maids and guards slowed their romantic activities. Their eyes became glazed.

 _Here goes…_ thought Sotira.

In a loud, clear voice, the Spartan woman commanded, “And now, everyone, you will all stop what you are doing, and relax… Relax… Relax…!”

Sotira had only observed Kynortas using hypnosis exactly once, and now, she wracked her brain to remember the exact words the poet had used. It turned out that there wasn’t much to remember. Talking in a continuous stream, Sotira merely instructed, “now your arms/legs/head/eyelids feel heavy,” and “you go deeper and deeper into relaxation.” And later still, “you close your eyes and fall into a deep, deep sleep.”

Argeia, Phile, and the other maids dropped into deep hypnosis in very little time. The wine had softened their minds, and they had no resistance to the magic of the sleeping-weed. The guards struggled to stay awake, but in the end, they could not resist either.

And to Sotira’s amazement, every maid and soldier soon lay at her feet, sleeping soundly, deeply hypnotized.

Pleased with herself, the handmaiden stomped out the rest of the smoking bundle. “Listen to me very carefully,” she instructed her entranced charges. “You will follow and obey my every command without hesitation. It will feel good to obey.”

From her own time under the spell of hypnosis, Sotira knew how to direct her subjects. First, she woke the guards and commanded them to remove the heavy bars that locked the prison cells shut.

“Very good,” complimented the beautiful young hypnotist. “Now, all of you: in a moment, I will snap my fingers. When I do, you will awaken with no memory of what has happened here. You will all proceed up into the plaza and begin enjoying one another’s company. You will create as large a distraction as you can.”

A coy smile lit across Sotira’s face. “Then, tomorrow morning,” she commanded, “you will all awaken completely convinced that you had the most amazing sex with your dream partner. You will forever believe that tonight was the best Dionysia ever!”

Satisfied, the beautiful young woman clicked her fingers, exactly as she had seen Kynortas do.

As one, the maids and soldiers opened their eyes and rose to their feet. Several of the young women had tossed aside their own robes, and now they wore only loincloths. The soldiers were practically naked, too.

With dazed looks on their faces, the maids took the guards by the hand and then pulled them up the staircase and out the door. Everyone was a slave to their hypnotic programming. They left a pile of their clothing on the stone floor.

Sotira caught one last glance at Argeia’s and Phile’s faces; both women were positively glowing as they were sharing the most muscular of the soldiers between the two of them.

*** *** ***

Sotira waited until the last of her hypnotized subjects had left the dungeons.

“‘Tir?” Cynisca’s voice called out. The princess sounded dazed. “Is that you?”

Mighty pleased with herself, Sotira hurried to the cells. Now that the doors were unbarred, Cynisca and Agis stepped out into the dungeon’s main chamber. They wore dumbfounded looks on their faces. Each wore royal tunics of sky blue, no doubt an ironic and cruel touch ordered by Queen Bithynia.

Overcome with relief, Sotira threw her arms around Cynisca’s neck.

“Hey ‘Tir,” Cynisca said, a dreamy quality to her voice. “I thought…”

“Never mind,” Sotira snapped, taking command of the situation. She straightened, then worriedly glanced back up the stairwell. The dungeon doors were still wide open. “Listen, we gotta get out of here.”

Cynisca and Agis stared at the handmaiden, stupid looks on their faces.

“Your highnesses,” frowned Sotira. “You guys should change out of those clothes, so we can escape. **_Right?_** ”

“…escape?” Agis asked.

It was then that Sotira realized: The Princess and Prince of Sparta had been exposed to the smoke of the sleeping-weed so many times, they were slipping back into trance. The smoke in the dungeon was already dulling their minds.

“Aw, Pan’s shit,” cursed Sotira, aghast. She’d have to do the thinking for all three Spartans.

There was only one thing to do.

“My prince, look at me,” she commanded, glaring into Agis’ glassy eyes. “Sleep!” She snapped her fingers.

Agis’ eyes shut, and his head sagged forward.

“Sleep!” commanded Sotira, now snapping before her mistress’s face. Cynisca instantly fell into a trance.

Hoping she knew what she was doing, the handmaiden placed one hand on each of the royals’ shoulders. “In a moment, I will awaken the both of you,” she instructed, thinking quickly as she spoke.

Inspiration hit. If the Sicyons discovered their dungeons empty, they’d be searching for a prince and princess, wouldn’t they?

“When you awaken, you two will believe that you are peasants, happy, simple, peasants,” Sotira intoned. “You have lived your entire life toiling the land, and know only the earth and soil. Royal trappings mean nothing to you. Therefore, when you awaken, you will quickly change into the common robes that you will find on the floor. Furthermore…”

The handmaiden paused, wondering if she was able to go too far. Hoping that none of Sparta’s patron gods were watching, she added, “Furthermore, Cynisca and Agis, you two now believe that you are young lovers. You are very deeply in love, and are so happy to find one another. You simply want to return to your hut in the village, so that you can spend an evening alone together.”

Sotira repeated these commands, furiously praying that they would work. Somehow, she had to smuggle the Heirs of Sparta through the festival and past the suspicious eye of Queen Bithynia. The queen would spot a princess and prince in a crowd, for royalty always walked with pride and arrogance. Sotira’s hope was that two young in-love peasants would never catch her eye.

“And now,” the handmaiden said, “I will snap my fingers, and you two will awaken. You will remember nothing, but my commands will be deep in your mind, and you must obey them.”

She clicked her fingers.

Cynisca opened her eyes immediately. She blinked, gasped, then dropped to the floor before Sotira. “Oh, forgive me, mistress,” she wailed. “I humbly beg your forgiveness!”

Agis, now awake, also looked shocked. He quickly prostrated himself upon the floor, too.

This was not what Sotira had been expecting. “Uh…” she said, caught off-guard.

“Please don’t tell the queen that we are here!” Cynisca implored. “My husband and I, we just want to return to our village.”

Everything fell into place for Sotira. The handmaiden was wearing the robes of a palace servant, who **_of course_** would be higher in status by the locals.

“Oh,” Sotira said, feeling silly. “Ah, think nothing of it. Get me?”

“Of course, of course, mistress!” Cynisca and Agis promised, still groveling at Sotira’s feet.

“Okay, both of you!” exclaimed Sotira, growing exasperated. “Stop that! Get up! Change into those clothes, and then let’s get out of here!” She stooped and began thrusting discarded tunics to her hypnotized masters.

The princess and prince lost little time getting naked. Cynisca shimmied into Phile’s dress, which stretched a bit across her chest and bum. Meanwhile, Agis yanked on a guard’s plain undertunic. He then reached for the armor.

“No, Agis, leave that,” snapped Sotira. “Otherwise, you’ll attract too much attention.”

“Yes, mistress,” the prince replied.

Sotira quickly tore off the palace insignia from everyone’s outfits, leaving the three Spartans dressed in little more than plain, white linen.

“This’ll have to do,” muttered Sotira. “We look good… Well, good enough.” Using her hypnotic-commanding voice, she instructed, “Now, Cynisca and Agis, you will both follow me. You will keep to yourselves and allow no-one to distract you. I am taking you out of the palace and back to your hut. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” the hypnotized royals responded in dull unison.

“Great,” Sotira nodded. She snapped her fingers, bringing the other two Spartans back from their trance. “Alright, Hera help us… Here we go!”

“Oh my love,” Cynisca sighed, leaning up against Agis, “we’re going home! I can’t wait!”

*** *** ***

Her body tense and her senses in hyperalert, Sotira led the princess and prince up out of the dungeon. Soon the three Spartans were in the main corridor, hurrying toward the Grand Hall. The sounds of the festival could be heard from outside the palace walls.

Sotira stuck her head into the Grand Hall. For once, the vast chamber was empty. The two guards had vanished… although they had left their discarded armor and weapons lying on the floor. From a side chamber, Sotira could hear the sound of people having sex.

“You two wait here,” she ordered Cynisca and Agis, then scampered across the Grand Hall. The large urn was just before her. She left Cynisca and Agis just inside the Grand Hall’s archway to the palace corridor.

The urn still held the remaining four bundles of Kynortas’ white trigs. Sotira reached inside to gather them up.

Just then, the palace’s double doors banged open. Queen Bithynia stormed into the hall, trailed by her female servants. “The nerve!” the queen was fuming. “Who do those peasant women think they are? Cavorting in the plaza without their clothes! I should have them all beheaded.”

Sotira froze. A stab of terror seized her as Bithynia’s angry glare flicked her way, then made eye contact.

“You!” spat the queen. “Peasant!”

With little other option, Sotira hurried before the urn, dropped to her knees, stretched out her arms and pressed her forehead to the marble floor. “My queen!” she trilled.

She heard Bithynia approach. With horror, Sotira realized; Cynisca and Agis were standing not twenty paces behind the queen! If the princess or prince cried out or caught Bithynia’s attention…!

“What are you doing in my house?” Bithynia demanded, stooping to seize Sotira by the hair. “Filthy peasant girl! You thought to rob me?”

“No, my queen, no!” Sotira implored, struggling to keep her face pointed downward. If Bithynia recognized her, it was all over.

“Shall I call the guards, my queen?” one of Bithynia’s servants asked.

“Where are the guards?” Bithynia snapped. “There should always be two men on duty here. No, better yet-“

Bithynia’s voice suddenly caught. Sotira, her face still pointed downward, sensed the monarch tense.

“Why,” the queen asked, her voice venomous, “are the doors to the dungeons wide open?”

There was a dreadful pause. Sotira could hear her own terrified heart pounding.

“By Hades,” Bithynia exclaimed, her voice both terrified and furious, “have the Spartans **_escaped?_** ”

Without another word, the queen released Sotira and rushed down the palace corridor towards the dungeons. She was screaming for her soldiers all the way. Sotira risked a quick glance upwards, and was just in time to see the folds of the queen’s robe disappear down the dungeon staircase.

The beautiful handmaiden swore. Within seconds, Bithynia would know that Cynisca and Agis had escaped, and she would sound the alarm.

And what of the princess and prince? The Sicyon queen had stormed right past them; how had she not noticed her two favorite prisoners?

Sotira looked up. There, on the other side of the hall, were Cynisca and Agis, madly kissing one another. In their peasant clothes and with their bodies and faces pressed together, Sotira hardly recognized them herself.

Grateful for a little luck, Sotira scrambled to her feet, reached within the Great Urn, and retrieved the remaining bundles of white twigs. Then she raced back to her Spartan companions, thrusting bundles into their arms.

“C’mon, lovebirds,” she gasped, “we’ve gotta fly!”

*** *** ***

By the time the three Spartans had returned to the plaza, the Dionysia Festival had truly gotten out of hand. Argeia, Phile, the other hypnotized maidens, and the dungeon guards were all naked, making love to one another on the plaza stones. What’s more, their example was encouraging the more inebriated Sicyons to join in. Drunk people were peeling out of their clothes to join in one what was rapidly becoming a public orgy.

“Aw, Cyclops’ piss!” wailed Sotira. “I said create a distraction, but…!”

“By Aphrodite!” exclaimed Cynisca, wide-eyed.

“Aphrodite has no hand in this,” Sotira said, wincing. “Ignore it all. We’ve gotta hurry!”

The alarm bell within the Sicyon palace started frantically ringing. Throughout the plaza, Sotira could see Sicyon soldiers look up, realizing that they were actually being called to duty.

“Come on, come on, come on!” the handmaiden urged, grabbing her princess by the wrist. “Follow me!”

Pushing her way through the crowd, Sotira made a beeline for the great bonfire. She pushed her way past drunken merrymakers and people snogging, hoping that Cynisca and Agis were keeping up with her.

When the handmaiden reached the huge fire, a tall man moved forward to embrace her. “Hey, there, sweetboobs,” he slurred, reaching to grope Sotira, “I’ve got someth’n sweet and long fer you!”

Sotira skidded to a dead stop. The man was Kynortas! He was very, very drunk, yet unmistakably the Poet of Sicyon!

Kynortas squinted, scrutinizing Sotira’s lovely face. Then his eyes widened. “You!” he exclaimed, aghast. “The handmaiden slut from Sparta!”

In a flash, Kynortas’ hand shot out, clamping onto Sotira’s arm. Even through he was drunk, the poet’s grip was very strong. “ ** _Help!_** ” he yelled. “ ** _Guards! Police!_** ”

“Gorgon shit!” gasped the young woman, panicking.

A person collided with Sotira from behind. It was Agis!

In a flash, Sotira twisted about. “Throw your bundles on the fire!” she yelled. “Do it!”

Agis blinked stupidly. But the prince obeyed. With a glare from Sotira, Cynisca did as well. The parchment-wrapped bundles burst into flame upon hitting the great fire.

“You…” Kynortas gaped, his mouth twisting in horror. “You…!”

And then, the white smoke rose up. The scent of cumin and pine filled the plaza.

Sotira wrenched her arm from Kynortas’ weakening grip. The poet’s eyes were becoming unfocused as his mind clouded. He could not resist the power of the weed.

Working quickly, Sotira whirled around, grabbing Cynisca and Agis by the arms. The smoke was pulling back into trance, too.

“Both of you!” she shouted, “turn and hurry towards the other end of the plaza! Go, now! Do not stop!”

Luckily, Sparta’s princess and prince were not too far gone. They mindlessly obeyed the new instructions in their heads, and hurried.

Sotira looked about. The drunken Sicyons were standing about, staring blankly before themselves, losing their conscious thoughts to the spell of the white weed. It was both impressive and frightening at the same time; an entire festival hypnotized by ancient magic!

The lovely young handmaiden turned to follow Cynisca and Agis. But then, she paused. Perhaps Dolos the God of Mischief whispered in her ear, for she suddenly she turned about, and glared at Kynortas. “Look at me,” she demanded.

The entranced poet gazed into her eyes, his expression slack.

“When I snap my fingers,” Sotira instructed, “you will awaken **_and go fuck yourself_**.”

The handmaiden clicked her fingers once, then hurried after Cynisca and Agis. She did not look back to see how Kynortas interpreted her commands.

*** *** ***

Sotira had perhaps ten paces from the bonfire when the palace doors flew open once more. Queen Bithynia appeared, flanked by several angry-looking (and sober) soldiers. Within the palace, the alarm bell continued ringing frantically.

The queen saw the white smoke and hypnotized crowd. And in a flash, her keen eyes spotted Cynisca, Agis, and Sotira, all pushing their way through the bodies toward freedom.

“ ** _There they are!_** ” shrieked Bithynia. “ ** _There, there!_** ”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Sotira gasped to herself.

The soldiers shoved their way into the crowd, closing in fast.

Risking a few precious seconds, the handmaiden looked about. There was a serving table, not five paces away.

Sotira pushed her way past the immobile locals, scrambled atop the table, then yelled at the top of her lungs. “ ** _Everyone look at me!_** ” she screamed.

The hypnotized Sicyons paused to look up at the beautiful handmaiden. With amusement, Sotira noted that a mesmerized King Machanidas was among the crowd.

“ ** _You are all under my control!_** ” shouted Sotira. “ ** _You all must obey my commands! And when I clap my hands, you must STOP THOSE SOLDIERS!!!_** ”

Queen Bithynia’s eyes widened is dismay. “ ** _No, no, wait, listen to me!!!_** ” she shouted back.

It was too late. Sotira slapped her palms together, once, directly over her head.

As one, the crowd turned, their blank eyes focusing on the oncoming soldiers. As a silent mass, they moved. Everyone reached out, grabbing the guards’ arms, hands, shoulders, weapons. The men cried out, fighting back with fists and curses.

Sotira didn’t stay to watch the battle. She leapt from the table, quickly grabbing Cynisca and Agis from joining the hypnotized mob.

“You two, stay with me!” she ordered. “Let’s go!”

*** *** ***


	9. Escape From Sicyon

The three Spartans hurried through the city streets. Sotira went first, looking up and down the alleys, expecting a city guard to leap out from any shadow. Cynisca and Agis trailed her, half-embracing one another. Still hypnotized, the princess and prince were only dimly aware of their predicament, and still under Sotira’s compulsions.

“You’re such a cutie,” Cynisca murmured to Agis, a warm smile on her lips.

“Noooo…” the prince mugged back, “ ** _you’re_** the cutie.”

Delighted, Cynisca slapped his chest. “No, silly, **_you’re_** the cutie!”

“No, **_you_** are!”

“ ** _You_** are!” Giggles erupted.

“Both of you!” hissed Sotira, exasperated. “Shut up! Or do you want to be recaptured?”

The handmaiden peered down the street. Her heart leapt. There, not fifty paces away, was Sicyon’s Front Gate, and still wide open! As usual, Haritas and Lelex were on duty, joined by two additional bored-looking soldiers. The four men were playing a game of dice-and-stick, but Haritas was still keeping a sharp eye on the locals drifting in and out of the city gate.

Sotira bit her lip, making calculations. Could she and her hypnotized companions slip through the city archway without arousing the guards’ suspicions? Haritas had a good memory. She doubted she could bluff him again.

Then again, what choice was there? No doubt, Queen Bithynia would know how to reassert control over the hypnotized crowd, and then all of Sicyon would be smarming everywhere, hunting for the escapees. Time was running out.

Sicyon paused to look at Cynisca and Agis. The prince was making dopey kissy-faces at Cynisca, and she was giggling like a toddler. “How’d I get so lucky?” the hypnotized princess sighed happily.

Haritas had seen the whole kingdom parade by his post. With luck, he wouldn’t remember Cynisca and Agis, not in their current state.

“Com’on guys,” Sotira said grimly. “Keep your heads down.”

*** *** ***

But when the Spartans had nearly reached the gate, a Sicyon officer thundered up on a great, black warhorse. “You piddling fools!” he bellowed when he spotted the idle guards. “Didn’t you hear the alarm bell from the palace?”

“Eh?” Haritas said. The four soldiers scrambled to stand at attention.

“ ** _CLOSE THAT GATE!_** ” roared the officer, actually drawing his sword in rage. “ ** _No-one_** in or out of the city, not until they’ve recaptured the escaped Spartans! **_D’you hear me?!?_** ”

At this, the soldiers hurried to obey. They labored to pull the mighty gate shut.

“Oh, Chimera Piss!” swore Sotira, panicking. She looked about in desperation.

As she did, the officer’s horse turned its head and snorted derisively. Sotira’s heart leapt. She knew that horse! It was Gorgo! **_Gorgo!_** The great stallion had been fitted with a Sicyon saddle, but his stance, his long, black mane, and his sour temper was unmistakable.

There was only one thing to do. Screwing her courage together, Sotira sprinted forward.

With all the strength she could muster, the handmaiden smacked Gorgo right on his bad hip, **_hard_**.

And the warhorse roared and bucked, then bolted forward like a javelin. Haritas and Lelex were flung aside as Gorgo thundered through the gate, throwing both doors open wide.

“ ** _Heeeeeeeeeeeelp!!!_** ” cried the officer in Gorgo’s saddle, holding on for dear life.

Not knowing what to do, Haritas and his fellow guards gave chase.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Sotira yelped, grabbing Cynisca and Agis by their wrists. She nearly wrenched the two off their feet, breaking up an impending kiss.

The three Spartans raced out of Sicyon and into the village beyond before the guards realized what had happened.

*** *** ***

The sun had long-set, and now moonlight bathed the land from a cloudy sky. As the three Spartans hurried through the village, Sotira snatched a burning torch from a public mount. They would need the light, once they were out in the country again.

Under Sotira’s firm command, the three Spartans hurried on. The handmaiden had no doubt they would be pursued.

*** *** ***

A half-hour later, the village lay behind Sotira, Cynisca, and Agis. The Spartans were back on the southbound road, and reentering the forest. It was well past sundown, and Sotira’s torch did little to illuminate the dark trees and earth.

The beautiful handmaiden nervously looked over her shoulder. She could still see the walls and domes of Sicyon, perhaps league to the north.

And Cynisca and Agis were still madly in love, still doting on one another, still flirting and blowing disgusting air-kisses at one another. Sotira was tempted to release them from hypnosis… but the princess and prince were still obedient to her commands. For the time being, if only to make as much distance as possible, Sotira left them under their love-spell.

Just then, there was a trumpet-call from the city. Sotira whirled around, looking back just in time to see Sicyon’s gates pushed open. A squadron of perhaps eight mounted soldiers poured out of the city, each holding burning torches. Three barking dogs jumped at their feet.

“Oh, **_for real?_** ” Sotira exclaimed in dismay.

“Mmmm?” Cynisca asked. The princess had snuggled into Agis’ arms, and now the two hypnotized lovers were gazing at one another in rapture.

The soldiers loosed the dogs, who scampered in all directions. It was only a matter of time before one of them caught the Spartans’ trail.

“Shit, shit, shit!” raged Sotira, thinking furiously. She needed a distraction, and quick.

The beautiful handmaiden craned her neck in all directions. To the west, up on a steep hill, she nearly jumped when she saw what appeared to be tall figures, standing tall in the moonlight. But these figures were not moving! No, they were… scarecrows!

Sotira blinked. She remembered: on the journey to Sicyon, those scarecrows had appeared creepy in the daylight. At night, they appeared positively nightmarish.

Still… Scarecrows would be made from old cloth and straw, wouldn’t they? A quick application of her torch, and they would go up in flames. **_That_** would be a worthy distraction, if she was quick enough.

There were no other alternatives. “Hey,” Sotira said harshly to Cynisca and Agis. “You two need to hide.”

“Sure,” Agis said, not really paying attention. He was smiling at Cynisca, who was smiling back.

“No, I mean it!” insisted Sotira, now pushing the two royals off the road.

There was a large thicket of soft ferns perhaps seven paces into the thin forest. Sotira cursed her luck, but it couldn’t be helped. The sound of barking dogs was growing closer. “You two hide here,” she ordered. “Stay down!”

Thankfully, the lovestruck princess and prince did as they were told, ducking behind the biggest clump of ferns. Sotira turned and raced at top speed toward the scarecrows. She took the torch with her.

*** *** ***

More than a little winded, the young Spartan woman reached the top of Scarecrow Hill, and stopped to stare at what she found. The scarecrows were actually mounted on a wooden fence, which looped about the top of the hill. And inside the fence…

At first, Sotira thought the Sicyons had planted a strange wheat atop of the hill. Inside the fence was a little field of an odd crop, a thin, white stalk with small leaves at the top. The plants swayed in the light breeze, and they gave off the scent of cumin and pine.

The breath caught in Sotira’s lungs. Cumin and pine! What had King Machanidas said? _The sleeping-weed only grows atop that one small hill._

This, without a doubt, was the evil monarchs’ entire supply of their mind-warping drug! Sotira’s eyes widened.

Silently thanking Hera for this stroke of good luck, Sotira went to work. She lowered her torch to the white crop, and waited long enough to make sure it caught aflame.

*** *** ***

The entire field was burning in less than five minutes. A huge white plumb rose straight up into the sky, eerily glowing in the starlight. Sotira grinned, pleased with herself. She tossed her torch into the center of the crop.

From the north, the handmaiden could hear horses and dogs approaching at full speed. She leapt back into the forest, then hurried back towards the spot where she’d left Cynisca and Agis. Now without her torch, it was difficult to traverse the forest. But the young woman pushed on.

Behind her, Sotira could hear Queen Bithynia’s anguished voice: “No, no!!!”

A soldier reminded her, “My queen, the prisoners! We should-“

“Forget the prisoners, you fool!” Bithynia wailed. “Hurry, we have to put this out! Save the crop! Fly back to the city, get help! Hurry, hurry!”

Sotira couldn’t resist another satisfied smile. It was far too late to save the white weed. But Bithynia would exhaust precious time trying.

*** *** ***

Without her torch, it was next to impossible to navigate. Sotira crept down the hill, squinting in the limited moonlight, and feeling before her with outstretched hands. More than once, an unseen branch appeared to slap her face or a tree root stubbed her toes. But she continued on.

And then, quite by accident, Sotira found herself standing in the center of the old road. Above her, the trees parted enough to allow some moonbeams to bathe the ground about her. But the skies were overcast.

Grateful to Hera, the beautiful handmaiden peered about. There were ferns all along the road, and it was impossible to tell where she’d left Cynisca and Agis. Sotira bit her lip.

Did she dare call out? The dogs and men were no longer pursuing. Aside from the crackle of the distant fire, all Sotira could hear was the grumpy hoot of an owl.

No, wait! The handmaiden strained her ears. She could hear another woman’s voice. …laughing? Singing? Wailing? Crying?

No. No, that woman was… having sex.

There was no mistaking it now. Sotira could hear the wordless gasps of passion as the woman was approaching climax.

“Aw, crud,” the handmaiden muttered to herself.

Sotira rushed up the road, zeroing in on the lovemaking. At that moment, the clouds parted, and moonlight bathed the thin forest.

There, atop a bed of ferns, were Cynisca and Agis. The Spartan royals had removed their clothing, and now Agis lay flat on his back. Straddling his hips was Cynisca, riding up and down atop his cock. Her breasts danced as she rose and fell, rose and fell, and Agis’ grateful hands slid up her stomach to caress them. Both lovers had their eyes tightly shut. Their bodies gleamed with sweat.

“Oh, by the gods…!” Cynisca moaned, then arched her back. “Oh, my love… ohhh… Oh, you feel so good, my love, oh… Oh! OHHHHH!!!!”

She trembled, obviously reaching orgasm. Beneath her, Agis snarled and thrust his hips upwards. He, too, was exploding with delight.

Sotira stood frozen, torn between her alarm and embarrassment.

The princess and prince tensed, momentarily freezing into a statue of ecstasy. They gasped wordlessly in the cool night air.

Then Cynisca smiled, a warm, loving smile. “Oh, oh my love,” she murmured happily, running her fingers over Agis’ muscled chest. “Oh, gods, that was **_fucking wonderful!_** ”

“Yeeeeah…” Agis agreed, still gently caressing Cynica’s breasts.

The princess laughed, then leaned forward to kiss her nude lover. The kiss was deep and slow and long.

Sotira stared; she couldn’t help it. She’d never seen two people kiss one another like this before.

Once the kiss dies, Cynisca slipped off Agis’ deflating penis, then snuggled up against him. “I love you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms and legs about the prince. Agis smiled, faintly.

And then, before Sotira knew what happened, both Spartan royals had fallen into a deep, natural sleep.

*** *** ***

The early morning sun peaked through the lowest tree branches. All around, cheerful birdsong filled the air. The scent of dew and damp moss lingered.

Sotira awoke with a start. She’d slept sitting against a large fig tree, and now her back and rear hurt. The handmaiden tenderly rose to her feet, collecting her memories.

Cynisca and Agis had slept so soundly, Sotira couldn’t rouse them, not even using hypnotic commands. A more powerful magic had seized the princess and prince, and there was simply nothing Sotira could do. With little choice, the handmaiden had been left to stand guard throughout the night.

By now, as Sotira was stretching and brushing the dead leaves from her rumpled tunic, Cynisca opened one eye. The princess yawned, extracted herself from the sleeping prince, and reached for her own clothes. Sotira watched as her mistress pulled the simple outfit back on, then absently fussed with her hair.

Cynisca looked at Sotira. The princess’ eyes were vacant.

“Hey ‘Tir,” she said absently. “What’s been going on?”

‘Uh…” said Sotira, “…you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Cynisca looked about. “Where are we?”

As she spoke, Agis roused. Yawning, the prince climbed to his feet and pulled on his own clothes. Neither Cynisca nor Agis seemed to be aware of the other.

Sotira looked closer. Both the princess and prince wore a dull, glassy expression. The drug from the sleeping-weed was still in their systems, the handmaiden guessed. They were still slightly hypnotized.

“We’ve got a long journey ahead of us,” she said instead. “So why don’t we start walking?”

“…’kay,” Cynisca agreed, displaying absolutely no curiosity.

As the three young Greeks situated themselves on the road, a thick patch of oleander bushes suddenly rustled. Sotira tensed, wondering if wolves were on the prowl.

But the brush parted, and an enormous black horse stepped into the road. An empty Sicyon saddle was on its back.

“Gorgo!” Cynisca exclaimed, only mildly surprised. She appreciatively patted the horse’s cheek. “Good to see you, boy!”

Gorgo gave Sotira a sullen glare. His bad hip still stung.

*** *** ***

The road was empty, and within a few hours, the three Spartans found themselves in the middle of the Greek wilderness. They walked together, allowing Gorgo to stroll along behind them.

“Wait,” Cynisca frowned. “Tell me **_again_** what happened?”

Sotira glanced at her mistress. The sleeping-weed had definitely worn off, and both Cynisca and Agis seemed like their usual, gruff selves. There were no more loving exchanges between the two.

“You were hypnotized,” Sotira told her. “We all were, actually. But you and his Highness the Prince, well…”

She retold the entire tale once more.

“Poseidon’s piss!” swore Agis, aghast.

Cynisca shook her head in wonder. “I don’t remember any of that. Well… I sort of do. But its more like remembering a dream. The last thing I recall clearly…” She paused, thinking. “…is when we arrived at Sicyon’s gates.”

“I think we’ve been away from Sparta for a month,” Sotira informed her mistress.

“Are you shitting me?” demanded Agis. “Hades’ balls!”

Cynisca gave the prince a wary look. “And Agis and me, we… You say, we were hypnotized to be in love with each other?” She made a slight face. “And we had sex?”

“Yep,” Sotira confirmed. She shrugged.

It had been tempting to omit that part of the story. But Sotira had a funny feeling that the prince and princess would eventually remember on their own. She held no detail back.

Cynisca and Agis regarded one another, their expressions completely unreadable.

*** *** ***

It took more than two full days to complete their journey. When the weary travelers finally walked through the northern districts of Sparta, there was a public outcry. “Princess Cynisca!” the people cried in joy and disbelief. “Prince Agis!”

The wandering trio were rushed straight to the Public Forum. It seemed that when both royal children had vanished, political tensions in the city skyrocketed. King Cleomenes feared the worst for his daughter. King Archidamus was likewise agitated. And because Nabis had honored Agis’ stern commands, neither monarch had the slightest clue as to what had happened. Each suspected the other of foul play.

Within the forum, the council of Sparta’s elders was assembled, with both kings engaged in a shouting debate on the floor. The forum guards, replete in their iron helmets and battle-wear, were nervously watching the proceedings, worried that an actual fight might break out.

“Dad!” Cynisca cried, rushing forward. “Dad, for gods’ sakes, I’m fine! I’m here!”

Cleomenes stared. “Cynisca?” he said, his voice uneven.

Archidamus was equally flabbergasted as Agis rushed to embrace his father.

And then, the forum fell deathly silent as Cynisca and Agis, and then even Sotira, retold the events of their adventure. Not a man so much as coughed or grunted as the tale was explained.

When the three young travelers were finished, Cleomenes had the seething look of fire in his eyes. “ ** _Sicyon dared?_** ” he roared. “Sicyon **_dared_** to enslave a Prince and Princess of Sparta?”

“This outrage,” agreed Archidamus, “cannot be overlooked!”

Cleomenes folded his strong arms across his chest. “Call for the generals!” he thundered. “The Spartan army marches at dawn!”

*** *** ***

Warfare was a way of life in Sparta. Captain Orestes and his _syssitia_ were pressed into duty… although Cynisca and Agis were not permitted to join them.

“Honor is honor,” Orestes growled when the two royals tried to claim their armor and weapons. “You both were expected to obey the code of training. Instead, you abandoned your posts and left the city without permission. You have no standing now.”

“But…” the blindsided Cynisca protested, “we did what we did for Sparta!”

“No buts!” insisted the stubborn captain. “You two are no longer soldiers.”

And that was that.

*** *** ***

The Spartan army marched north, with Cleomenes and Archidamus themselves at the head of the two columns. Cleomenes rode on Gorgo, who was thrilled to be on one last military campaign.

Timing their strike on Sicyon just before dawn, the Spartans invaders charged and captured the city’s gate before it could be closed, thus preventing a siege. Poor Haritas and Lelex were caught asleep at their posts! They never had the chance to sound the alarm.

And before the Sicyon people had risen from their beds, Sparta’s kings were in control of the royal palace. Argeia, Phile, and all the other palace maids were freed from their bonds of service. But King Machanidas, Queen Bithynia, Kynortas, and Nicander had raided Sicyon’s treasure. They managed to escape and fled to the north.

King Cleomenes and King Archidamus, in a rare show of solidarity, agreed to pursue the villains. There is nothing like shared wound to one’s honor to unite two old Spartan warlords.

*** *** ***

Back in Sparta, Sotira found herself resuming her old life. She still doted on Princess Cynisca, as before, serving her fresh root tea in the mornings, cleaning her clothes, and preparing her meal trays. But now that Cynisca was barred from military training, the young princess had little to occupy her.

Sotira expected that her mistress would fall into depression. Even as a small girl, Cynisca had dreamed of being a soldier first, a princess second. It must have gutted her to know that she was responsible for a war, and yet was forbidden from taking part in the campaign.

And yet, the princess seemed resigned to her fate. She remained in Cleomenes’ palace, always attentive whenever the generals sent messengers back to the king’s court. She listened with great interest to every scrap of news. But she never once spoke.

And when there was no news from the war, Cynisca withdrew. She was quiet, introspective, more prone to reading. Her favorite topics were Spartan history and philosophy.

And aside from her regular morning exercise, the princess liked to go for long walks along the Eurotas River. Sotira was stunned when she happened to glance out a palace window, and spotted her mistress strolling along the water, with Prince Agis at her side. The two were engrossed in conversation, with no trace of their former rivalry evident.

Outside from when they were hypnotized, Sotira couldn’t remember a moment when the princess and prince were ever civil to one another.

*** *** ***


	10. Epilogue

After a month of being on the march, Sparta’s army reached the end of their quest. Kings Cleomenes and Archidamus had pursued King Machanidas, Queen Bithynia, Kynortas the poet, and Nicander across mainland Greece, almost as far north as Phoenice! In the end, the rogue Sicyons had run out of gold, and were weary of flight. Queen Bithynia had poisoned herself, willing to meet Hades at last. Her male companions were enslaved and then sold off by the Phoenican locals.

The bells of Sparta rang out as the army at last returned home! As was Spartan tradition, the victorious soldiers marched through the streets, passing by the palaces of both kings, before heading to and disbanding at the Forum. Sotira, excited as anyone else in the city, made a point of watching the parade.

To her surprise, Argeia and Phile, her former fellow maids in Sicyon, were tagging along with the procession! The two young women were beaming, positively giddy at their fates.

“You… you two!” was all Sotira could blurt out when she encountered the other two young women.

“Hey, girl!” sang out Argeia, actually throwing her thick arms about Sotira’s neck. “So good to see you!”

“You guys were forced to come to Sparta?” Sotira exclaimed, dumfounded.

“Forced? Baby, we demanded to come!” Phile retorted.

“We got Spartan soldiers for husbands now!” Argeia gushed. “Honey, why didn’t you tell us Spartan boys were so musclebound?”

“May the gods bless the Princess of Sparta,” grinned Phile. “Its ‘cause of her that we’re free!”

Sotira couldn’t help grinning back. Then, a strange thought occurred to her:

By birth, Sotira **_was_** a princess. A princess of the Kingdom of Adania, true, but a princess nonetheless. In a weird, backwards way, Argeia and Phile owed her freedom to her.

But… perhaps… Sotira of Sparta was **_also_** a princess of Sparta? Not in the ruling sense, but in a very literal sense? Perhaps all of this… was because of her?

What silly nonsense! Sotira pushed the errant thought from her mind.

*** *** ***

Soon, the court of Elders was reassembled within the City Forum. Sotira squeezed into the commoner’s seating to watch and listen for any news. After a war, there was always news. All of Sparta seemed crammed into the seating area with anticipated breath.

The great hall settled as King Cleomenes assumed the center of the floor. “He looks angry,” a citizen next to Sotira muttered. “Perhaps the war went badly?”

“No, no, look at King Archidamus,” another man replied. Sparta’s other king stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders hunched. “The two kings have been feuding again.”

“Hades’ balls…!” sighed a nearby woman. “If a war can’t unite our city, we’re fucked.”

“My lords and elders,” King Cleomenes boomed, raising one hand high in the air.

All conversation in the great hall ceased.

“I bring you word of our campaign to the north,” Cleomenes continued, flashing a glare at Archidamus. “By Zeus’ will, we have avenged Sparta’s honor. However…”

All of Sparta flinched, anxiously watching the two kings stare at one another.

“Here it comes,” moaned another peasant. “Civil war, at last.”

“Wait!” a small voice shouted from the back of the Forum.

Everyone – king, elder, citizen, and peasant alike – all craned their necks. Sotira was stunned when Princess Cynisca strode onto the floor, her head high, a cloak of light blue fluttering about her slim frame. The princess moved to stand before the two kings.

“What is this?” Cleomenes growled. “Cynisca, you should not-“

“A moment, my lord,” the lovely princess declared, using the formal tone. “Before anything further is said, I have news.”

She stood taller. “I am with child.”

The crowd murmured with excitement. “Pregnant! Well, that is news,” remarked the woman right behind Sotira.

“Daughter, we are discussing affairs of state,” scowled Cleomenes. “You should have-“

“This child,” Sotira announced, “ ** _is_** a matter of the state. You must know the father.”

She extended her hand. And then, walking out from the shadows, Prince Agis appeared. He moved to the princess and took her hand in his. The two young lovers stood close together. Agis laid a tender hand over Cynisca’s belly.

The Forum was deathly silent. Had a blind man wandered into the chamber at that moment, he never would have suspected that over a thousand people were all in attendance, thunderstruck and silent.

“This baby will be a child of the Eurypontids…” exclaimed Cleomenes, his eyes wide.

“…and a child of the Agiads!” Archidamus finished.

Stunned, the two kings stepped forward to stand with their children. Wonder and relief filled their faces.

“By Zeus, I’m gonna be a **_grandpa!_** ” shouted Archidamus.

“Me too!” Cleomenes whooped.

It was as if all the angst which had plagued Sparta was washed away in that moment. All previous slights were immediately forgotten. The two kings actually embraced one another. Perhaps all the gods were smiling upon Sparta in that one moment.

The people rose to their feet, screaming and applauding. And Sotira, her eyes filled with tears, joined them. Her heart sang.

For the first time in decades, Sparta’s future felt secure.

*** *** ***


End file.
